


The Railway Reaper

by kalendarium



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Canon Compliant, Case Fic, Chaptered, Gen, Night Train Mystery, Screenplay/Script Format, other characters not mentioned in tags
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-30
Updated: 2018-08-10
Packaged: 2019-05-31 02:46:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 25,800
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15110237
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kalendarium/pseuds/kalendarium
Summary: A night train. An escape that Scotland Yard can't handle. And a dead man. Time to call Sherlock!Marked as "Gen", because there is no "Desperate maybe-slow-burn like in the show" option.Case fic in 10 chapters, based on a true crime.





	1. Arise (Intro)

**Author's Note:**

> Have fun reading <3 ~

FADE IN:

EXT. RAILWAY LEADING ACROSS A MARSH - NIGHT

Train tracks shimmer through wafts of mist.

Pan over the flat landscape dotted with ash trees among high grass. A _clackety-clackety_ noise - distant at first - grows louder, clearer...

A standard sleeper train approaches. Its headlights reflect from patches of water in quick flashes...

 _Whoosh_. Train cars fly past, metal wheels hurtle over the tracks. _Rattle,_ _rattle,_ _rattle_. Wind brushes the marsh with its invisible hand. Long reeds bend to the side. _Rattle,_ _rattle,_ _rattle_ \- the water’s surface dances in ripples. _Whoosh_. The last car. A final blast of air and the train is gone again.

The _clackety-clackety_ noise fades back into a soft rustle.

EXT. SMALL TRAIN STATION - NIGHT

We see a small town railway building lined with bushes, behind it a road, brick wall houses grouped together in the dark.

Multiple tracks stretch out in front of a dimly-lit platform. No one’s there. The hands of a round station clock point the time - around 4:55...

The sleeper train passes by on one of the transit tracks. _Clackety-clackety_. Just a handful of lights shine from its windows.

INT. SLEEPING CAR NO 15 - NIGHT

A man in uniform, the TRAIN GUARD, shuffles along the corridor leading to individual passengers’ compartments. He stops in front of one of the doors, checks his wrist watch. _Knock,_ _knock,_ _knock_. A little plate on the wall indicates the compartment number 8.

The door is openend from the inside, and a tall man, MR OWENS, peeks through the crack.

               TRAIN GUARD  
            (routinely)  
     Good morning, Sir. This is your wake-up service.

He has a look at his passenger.

               TRAIN GUARD  
      Ah, you’re dressed already, very well.

               MR OWENS  
          (through the gap in the door)  
      Morning. Yeah. Everything’s good, thank you.

               TRAIN GUARD  
     Anything for breakfast?

               MR OWENS  
     Ahm. Yes, please. I’d like a coffee.

               TRAIN GUARD  
     Of course. Do you take milk or sugar?

Mr Owens glances down the corridor, then looks back at the Train Guard. Weird.

               MR OWENS  
     Milk, please.

Understood.

               TRAIN GUARD  
     I’ll be back in just a moment.

               MR OWENS  
     Oh no, take your time. Thank you.

The Train Guard makes his way back through the corridor, and Mr Owens shuts the door to his compartment.

INT. SERVICE COMPARTMENT - NIGHT

Coffee trickles out of a filter machine into a large glass pot.

The Train Guard yawns, switches on a radio on the shelf. 2000s pop. He adjusts the frequency and looks out of the window, content.

The day begins to dawn.

A few quick moves of hand prepare trays, spoons, and biscuits. _Slosh_. Milk pours into black coffee in one of the cups.

INT. SLEEPING CAR NO 15 - DAWN

We’re back in the corridor with the Train Guard, holding a tray with cups and skillfully balancing out the carriage’s movements, a focussed pout on his face.

He moves up to compartment No 8. _Knock, knock, knock_.

No response.

               TRAIN GUARD  
          (close to the door)  
     ...Sir?

               MR OWENS  
          (from inside, in pain)  
     Arrrgh -

On the Train Guard’s face as he opens the door. His eyes widen in horror...

Mr Owens is crawled up on the lower bunk bed - lying on his side, staring towards the floor. His body twitches, his legs row - his face is distorted in pain - and his hands clutch his _bleeding_ chest.

               MR OWENS  
     Aghh -

The Train Guard’s hands start trembling, his tray starts shaking...

               TRAIN GUARD  
     Oh no no no! Dear God...

Mr Owens coughs and rattles. There’s so much blood - the matress is soaked in it.

               TRAIN GUARD  
     I’ll get help!

He puts his tray on the floor - caught up in his panic, he knocks over what was on it - and rushes back along the line of compartments...

The contents of the cups flow along the corridor, as the train leans into a curve.

FADE TO BLACK.

FADE IN:

EXT. SUBURBS OF GREATER LONDON IN AUTUMN - DAWN

The tracks lead across a motorway bridge, trains draw in and out of the city. _Clackety-clackety, clackety-clackety_.

TITLE OVER:  
  
The Railway Reaper

EXT. OLD OAK COMMON TMD - DAWN

(A huge traction maintenance depot in the west of London.)

The sleeper train has slowed down and rolls across a bunch of switch points inbetween parked waggons. _Clack-clack, clack-clack_.

INTERCUT WITH:

INT. SLEEPING CAR NO 7 - DAWN

The insides of a passenger’s compartment. A WOMAN wearing running shoes and a parka sits on the lower bunk bed. She zips close a backpack on her lap and brushes a strand of hair behind her ear.

               SPEAKER VOICE  
     Ladies and Gentlemen, may I have your attention please for a special announcement. This train has been diverted upon request of London Rail.

On the woman’s face - _what_?? She looks up to the speaker on the ceiling.

               SPEAKER VOICE  
     We will have an unscheduled stop at Old Oak Common Depot shortly.

She dashes to pull down the pane of her window...

Many of the other passengers have done the same and stick their heads out of windows next to hers. _Clack-clack, clack-clack_. There’s loads of empty trains, parked waggons - must be the depot already.

Wait, are these _police cars_ \- are they waiting for _us_? We were supposed to go to Paddington - what’s happening? Uneasiness spreads across more and more faces.

               SPEAKER VOICE  
     Please remain calm and follow the instructions given by the Metropolitan Police.

Officers in uniform distribute along the train tracks. Their movements are coordinated by someone with a familiar face, DI LESTRADE.

The woman grabs her backpack and bursts out of her compartment onto the corridor. It’s filled with confused travellers and their luggage. She shoves them out of the way, heads for the end of the carriage -

               FEMALE PASSENGER  
     Excuse me!

               MALE PASSENGER  
     Hey! -! Unbelievable.

Before anybody even comprehends her plan, the woman reaches for the emergency lever - _clack_. She throws herself against the inside of the carriage door and it _crashes_ open.

 _Clack-clack, clack-clack_. The ground outside rolls by the woman’s running shoes...

...and the emergency break kicks in with an earsplitting _shrriiieeeeek_. Passengers and luggage topple over each other, while she leans outside the opened door frame.

Police’s heads jerk round, there’s plenty of surprised faces at the metal screeching - what the hell?

               OFFICER  
     What was _that_?

Her parka flutters in the wind. A ray of sunlight flashes across her face. She launches herself out of the train.

WHAT. They watch her for a split second -

She lands on broken rubble and train tracks.

And they - dash forward. _Tickticktick tick... tick_. Time slows down - to a single frame. Police officers collectively start charging after the woman. They gain momentum -

 _Zoom_. Flash back to normal speed, into chaos. DI Lestrade runs amongst his people, tries pointing them in directions.

               LESTRADE  
          (shouts)  
     This way!

               OFFICER  
          (towards the woman)  
     Whoa! Stop!

               OFFICER  
     Police!

INT. SLEEPING CAR NO 7 - DAWN

The sleeper train has come to a halt. Passengers pick themselves up on the packed corridor.

On the Train Guard, who is amongst them. Pearls of sweat form on his forehead.

               MALE PASSENGER  
          (to the Train Guard)  
     Somebody jumped off! She just jumped off!!

EXT. OLD OAK COMMON TMD - DAWN

Police officers sprint along the sleeper train, eager to catch up with the escapee.

She throws on her backpack whilst running.

Passengers gather in the open door of car No 7, as well as the windows of the other cars, and witness the bizarre race across the train depot. All gaze as if in a state of trance.

Nobody can close the gap to this one woman, it’s incredible...

A yellow shunting engine moves across the depot. _Clack-clack,_ _clack-clack_. The woman turns round to look. It’ll pass by just two tracks beside her!

We hear her breathe, the noise of her shoes hitting the rubble, as she hops over the tracks...

Off the ground. Grasps for the yellow metal bars. _Clack-clack,_ _clack-clack_. Clings on.

She manages to climb onto a metal platform, as the shunting engine pulls away.

Lestrade falls into a jog and reaches for his coat pocket.

               LESTRADE  
          (on the phone, out of breath)  
     It’s Lestrade, at Old Oak Common Train Depot, I’ll need a search party. Can you put me through to Wallis?

          (running his hand through his hair)  
     I know they said that, but we got a fugitive heading North, female, possibly armed -

He certainly looks distressed. His voice crescendos.

               LESTRADE  
     How?! She jumped onto a shunting engine!

          (cutting off a response)  
     Hurry up, do it, now!

On Lestrade’s face, as he lowers his phone. Shit. Exchanges a worried look with one of his officers. Shit!

A team of two women in reflective vests appear at the scene. Paramedics - a younger one, carrying an ECG backpack, and an older, experienced looking one.

               EXPERIENCED PARAMEDIC  
     Emergency Service! Make way, please!

INT. MR OWENS’ COMPARTMENT - DAWN

We watch the scene on the compartment floor unfold from above: The two paramedics kneel next to Mr Owens carefully placed on his back, the younger one holds up the wired pads of a charging ECG. Singing electricity loads up the air, while her partner cuts open Mr Owens’ blood-stained shirt with a pair of scissors. _Snip, snip, snip_.

On Mr Owens, motionless. The room fills with soft, low angle morning light falling through the window...

The young paramedic presses down the ECG pads, the experienced one closely watches the heart rate oscilloscope. We hear a single _thump_ , as the charge is released. In between the ECG pads, right on Mr Owens’ naked chest besmirched with darkening blood, there’s a circular raw spot. A _shot wound_?

A long, single _beeeeep_ splits the tense silence.

               EXPERIENCED PARAMEDIC  
     Flatline. Try again.

They try again, and try again.

Give cardiac massage. Take another look at the graph. Another long, single _beeeeep_.

The young paramedic wipes her exhausted face, visibly upset. Her older partner, a motherly look on her face, squats down beside her and rubs her back...

On the eyes of Mr Owens, transfixed, like made of glass.

EXT. OLD OAK COMMON TMD - DAWN

Lestrade holds his phone, scrolls through his contacts. An officer behind him gives instructions to some of the passengers squatting in the frame of the opened door of car No 7.

               OFFICER  
     Everybody stay where you are please, do not exit the carriage!

               LESTRADE  
          (phoning)  
     There’s been an assault on a night train, on one of the passengers.

          (after a response)  
     Was about to arrive, from Penzance. There’s a woman on the run, Old Oak Common Depot -

          (after another response)  
     Can you come?

INT. 221B BAKER STREET - DAWN

SHERLOCK HOLMES, in the middle of the living room, finishes a call. _Bip_. Tosses his phone in the air and catches it. His face lights up with a smile.

He takes his keys, and his coat, and leaves 221B. It’s on!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welcome to the case, gang! Guess along, if you like...  
> xxx
> 
> This is set after the Magnusson case, ergo S3 and whatever multilevelled mindpalace horror (I guess?) was caused by it. Mainly because I have no clue where we’re headed regarding S4, it's not going to get referenced.
> 
> But note the last case our heroes Sherlock Holmes, Consulting Detective, and John Watson, Army Doctor returned from the Middle East, have solved together wrecked John’s marriage and personal life...


	2. Compartment 8

EXT. OLD OAK COMMON TMD - DAY

Pigeons flutter across the morning sky.

The night train has evolved into a crime scene, surrounded by police swarming about. An officer rolls out striped tape, another talks to one of the paramedics.

Two men, sporting their signature coat and black jacket, Sherlock Holmes and JOHN WATSON, individually pop up inbetween the uniforms.

They spot each other, and pause for a while.

               SHERLOCK  
     You came.

               JOHN   
    Yes. ’Course.

On Sherlock. "Yes" - okay, good. Brilliant, actually. But "’Course" - far from the truth, John.

               SHERLOCK  
     I wasn’t sure you would.

Certainly, they’ve _seen_ each other. Talked, a little, then a lot. Texted, from time to time. It helps, it's nice, but - it's not the same as _this_.

On John. Yes, and dammit. But -

               JOHN   
    You get why I needed some time off, from casework, after...

               SHERLOCK  
     ...Magnusson.

               JOHN  
     Mh.

Their last case together, it... wasn’t easy, all that happened, wasn’t right.

               SHERLOCK  
     It's September.

               JOHN  
     Yeah. I know. I know.

They walk towards Lestrade examining car No 7 - the one with the opened door.

               LESTRADE  
          (glancing at Sherlock)  
     Glad you could make it.

               SHERLOCK  
     Don’t be silly. I virtually haven’t left your side in years.

Lestrade turns to respond with a snarky comment. And spots -

               LESTRADE  
     John!

          (beat)  
     Hi!

               JOHN  
          (raising a hand)  
     Hi.

A pause.

On John. There it is again, the nagging feeling. It’s been so long, too long -

               LESTRADE  
          (supportive)  
     It’s good to see you.

Yeah. You know what, it is.

               JOHN  
     And you.

Yet, it feels strange to be back. Back on a case, an actual, real case, with Sherlock. John lets his eyes wander over the parked night train, takes it all in.

               SHERLOCK  
          (to John)  
     You certainly chose a grand setting to kick things off again. Might be your new feature page in the bag.

Oh. That. Yeah.

               JOHN  
          (raises an eyebrow)  
     It really might not.

               SHERLOCK  
     Oh come on. You're here, your fingertips must tingle at least a little bit. This...

He gestures towards the train in a sweeping motion -

               SHERLOCK  
     ...is a golden opportunity to readopt murder blogging.

On John. Sighs. Of course Sherlock was bound to bother him about the blog sooner or later -

               JOHN  
     We’ll see.

No, a definite no. Is what he should have said.

No more talking. He stretches his fingers and walks towards the carriage. Examines the door frame.

               JOHN  
     So that’s where she jumped off. We’re looking for who exactly?

He turns round, expecting Lestrade to answer, but finds him engaged in a debate with a YOUNG POLICE OFFICER instead.

               YOUNG OFFICER  
          (to Lestrade)  
     Detective Inspector Lestrade? They’ve closed off Old Oak Common Lane, nothing, gonna check Victoria Road now -

               LESTRADE  
     Thanks. Try the A4000 next - I suppose we got little chance finding her if she went past Willesden Junction.

               SHERLOCK  
          (dropping in)  
     Lestrade, don’t euphemize. It’s impossible either way.

He shakes the young officer’s hand.

               SHERLOCK  
     Sherlock Holmes -

He’s met with affrontation. Who?

               SHERLOCK  
     Happy to disappoint.

          (beat)  
     Save yourself some time -

What?!

               LESTRADE  
          (to the young officer)  
     Ah, ignore him. Keep it up.

A reassuring nod from Lestrade, and the young officer jogs away.

               LESTRADE  
          (agitated)  
     We’ll lose her, and that’s a _fact_ , if we give up now!

               SHERLOCK  
     You’re basing your search on what - "she went that way"? Your elusive murderess could be anywhere in North London.

               LESTRADE  
     I _saw_ her. We _all_ saw her, she was 15 metres from us. Tops. Do you have any idea how frustrating that is?

John walks back up to the pair of them. Seriously. _Seriously_.

               SHERLOCK  
          (to Lestrade)  
     You called. I’ll -

          (he notices John)  
     - we - will find her.

Lestrade exhales slowly.

               LESTRADE  
          (defeated)  
     Guess I’m just gonna do the usual then - comprehensive identity checks of all passengers, photofit picture, witness accounts - I can get you train schedules and everything.

               SHERLOCK  
     See you know your methods.

               LESTRADE  
     Yes.

               SHERLOCK  
     Excellent, _apply_ them.

          (beat)  
     I’ll try mine. I’m in no mood for trivia today.

And with that, Sherlock climbs onto the train.

               JOHN  
     Err -, _sorry_ , on _his_ behalf.

               LESTRADE  
     Yeah I don’t even know if that was particularly grouchy. It’s just how he’s been like - all the time - lately. John?

               JOHN  
     Yes?

               LESTRADE  
     You know, do try and give the blog a reboot.

               JOHN  
     I don’t think me writing a blog’s gonna solve - whatever his problem is.

               LESTRADE  
     Okay. Let me know if you figured it out?

On Sherlock, in the door, unexpected.

               SHERLOCK  
     Which carriage’s the corpse?

Back on John and Lestrade.

               LESTRADE  
          (pointing the way)  
     Second class, car 15, compartment 8.

INT. SLEEPING CAR NO 15 - DAY

Sherlock and John move through the corridor, past the Train Guard’s compartment towards the victim’s.

               JOHN  
     Some of the passengers might have a pretty good idea of the killer. Why aren’t you interested?

               SHERLOCK  
     Oh I’m sure they all have their own brilliant views on the case.

               JOHN  
     But?

On Sherlock. He hesitates for just a moment.

               SHERLOCK  
     I prefer consulting a witness that isn’t opinionated. The crime scene will tell us everything we _need_ to know.

INT. SLEEPING CAR NO 15 - COMPARTMENT NO 8 - DAY

_Snap_ \- the sound of thin, elastic rubber being stretched and released.

               SHERLOCK  
     Gloves.

He hands a pair to John.

We see the crime scene - as found by the both of them.

The compartment door, a window and two bunk beds frame the room - the lower bed’s sheets are soaked in blood. The victim, a tall man, lies dead on the floor on his back. His shirt is cut open, parts of the fabric are drenched in crimson red. A circular wound is visible on his chest. Some small items, his belongings, are collected on a shelf below the window. A mid-sized, zipped open sports bag beneath it contains messy clothes. There’s little else: a coathanger, tiny shelves with embedded lamps over each of the bunk beds.

Sherlock emerges above the victim and starts examining. His eyes flicker with taking in information.

               SHERLOCK  
     Early 30s. Not overly athletic, fairly strong however. Unemployed. As of recently, judging by the stubble.

John squats down beside Sherlock and presses his fingers against the victim’s chest, feels for any discrepancies. Takes a close look at the wound - it’s oddly red, compared to the ugly lifeless colour of the rest of the man’s body, his blank face...

John clears his throat.

               JOHN  
          (firmly)  
     Lestrade was right, he did get shot - in the upper lobe.

Hmm. Sherlock - turns to the beds.

               SHERLOCK  
     He was found on the lower bunk bed...

His eyes follow the bloodstained folds of the bed sheets to the PVC compartment floor. Details, details.

               SHERLOCK  
     ...and hieved down here later.

The detective in his element. Turns back to John.

               SHERLOCK  
     They tried to reanimate him three -

          (squinting his eyes)  
     four times. You can make out the marks left by the ECG.

On John, checking it. It’s true, of course it is. Sherlock sweeps round, his coat flies through the air. What’s next.

John picks up one of the victim’s hands, inspects the palm.

               JOHN  
     He’s been pressing down on the wound, judging by the blood smears. No scratches or other type of injuries, though.

               SHERLOCK  
     Well on this side. Can you help me turn him over?

They take a look at the victim’s back. It seems unharmed - there’s nothing out of the ordinary...

They place him back as he was.

               JOHN  
     Okay, so except for the blatant shot wound on his chest - we have no injuries on the body.

          (bending forward)  
     There’s no trauma on his face either.

               SHERLOCK  
     No signs of a struggle - which means...

               JOHN  
     He didn't suspect anything?

A sparkle in Sherlock’s eyes tells him he’s right.

               SHERLOCK  
     Well, yes. There's two prominent options as to why however. One: He had no reason - trust. If so, he must’ve known her. Two: He had no time - speed.

               JOHN  
     Either way, it’s cold-blooded murder.

               SHERLOCK  
     Don’t give her too much credit.

               JOHN  
     I’m not... _what_??

               SHERLOCK  
     She may outrun Scotland Yard in a race.

          (inhales sharply)  
     But that’s not much to brag about...

He claps into his hands and stretches -

               SHERLOCK  
     ...this was sloppy.

INT. TRAIN DEPOT OFFICE - DAY

We see Lestrade, at some kind of desk, overlooking a sketch of the layout of the night train. He pulls out drawers until he finds a pencil, and starts labelling the carriages within said sketch.

A COLLEAGUE in the room with him turns on the spot, looks for something - a chair - he walks over to the corner to get it. Picks it up by the back. Carries it to place it opposite Lestrade’s desk. _Thud_.

               COLLEAGUE  
     Right, that’ll do?

               LESTRADE  
          (flicking the pencil)  
     Let’s go.

His colleague opens a door to the next room, holding a dictophone in his hand.

The Train Guard and a large number of people, who _all_ look like night train passengers, wait inbetween pieces of luggage. They are overseen by yet another officer, who is in the process of checking their IDs.

               COLLEAGUE  
          (firmly)  
     Everyone from cars seven and eight, raise your hand please!

EXT. URBAN RESIDENTIAL DISTRICT - DAY

The _woman in the parka and running shoes_ powerwalks along a pebblestone path. There’s a high fence to her right, someone’s browning garden hedge to her left.

She pulls the strings of her backpack tighter. Has her next destination in mind...

Turns a corner. Walks diagonally across the white markings of a parking lot inbetween apartment blocks. We zoom up and away, while she marches on. Dried autumn leaves, a few empty cars on the concrete...

INT. SLEEPING CAR NO 15 - COMPARTMENT NO 8 - DAY

We’re back in the victim’s compartment and focus on Sherlock. In the zone. Does his hover hands thing, fingers spread, turns on his heel to the window...

               SHERLOCK  
     AH!

He turns back, completing his little pirouette.

               SHERLOCK  
          (with sudden excitement)  
     His belongings were found scattered all across the floor.

On John’s face, slightly bewildered at the comment.

               JOHN  
     Found scattered?

          (beat)  
     You mean this?

He points past Sherlock to the small collection of items on the shelf below the window.

               SHERLOCK  
     Yes.

Sherlock slowly lifts off each item - a wallet, a ballpoint pen, and several sheets of paper. A blue and orange leaflet is last, and reveals -

Blood, sprayed onto the shelf.

CUT TO:

A FLASHBACK, SLOW MOTION. Fine red droplets hit the surface of the wooden board with enormous energy, draw tiny lines.

They dry up in FASTFORWARD, turn a rusty colour.

CUT TO:

John’s face, intrigued. Here we go.

               SHERLOCK  
     Dried high velocity blood splatter, resulting from the firing of a gun shot. These things...

          (he holds them up)  
     weren’t lying there when he was killed.

               JOHN  
          (acknowledging this)  
     Blood would have been on top, not beneath, yeah.

Sherlock puts down the ballpoint pen and the wallet. Turns the loose bunch of papers in his hands as if they were the pages of a book. _Flick flick flick_. He holds up the blue and orange leaflet in one hand, and runs across it with his index finger of the other.

               SHERLOCK  
     The back of the lowermost paper - clean.

               JOHN  
     There must have been enough time for the blood to dry onto that shelf then, because otherwise - it would have stuck to it.

On Sherlock. He senses John is going to continue, waits, thrilled -

               JOHN  
     So. We know _neither the victim_ , who was _dying, nor the murderer_ , who cleared the scene after a few minutes - have put this leaflet or any of the other stuff on there.

               SHERLOCK  
     Excellent.

               JOHN  
          (frowning)  
     Ah who was it?

               SHERLOCK  
     The paramedics. Why?

          (beat)  
     This man, the victim, he was on the bed, before they moved him to start the reanimation. They put his things on the shelf, because _the floor required cleaning up_.

          (beat)  
     They found the place cluttered when they got here. Simple.

On John’s face. He can’t help but smile. Did he actually _miss_ \- and he shakes his head, bemused - _smartass deductions_ , of all things.

               JOHN  
     So, ah, long story short: The crime scene has been tampered with?

               SHERLOCK  
          (mysteriously)  
     The truth is buried somewhere deep within the maze, it always is. But - we need to be careful.

          (beat)  
     Ah, John -

He’s serious all of a sudden.

               JOHN  
     Yeah?

Their eyes meet. He’s _very_ serious. There’s a calculating pause.

               SHERLOCK  
     I should mention, ask anyone... and I have been meaning to say this -

          (beat)  
     Without you, the quality of my work has not been the same.

That was unexpectedly straightforward. John lets out a nervous little laugh.

               JOHN  
          (processing)  
     You know what’s amazing? I can’t tell if you’re trying to be nice or reproachful.

A faint smile crosses Sherlock’s face, as he looks at John.

               SHERLOCK  
     Glad to have you back.

          (beat)  
     Sorry if I fail to give off the impression.

On John, rooted to the spot. Unsure what to make of this sudden outburst of... apprechiation? He can feel a rush of guilt, nervousness, excitement - flow through his body in rapid succession. Bites his lip as he tries to think of an answer.

But Sherlock’s already gone back to work. Opens the wallet. Brown leather. Sniffs it for good measure. No surprises here. He takes plastic cards out of it, and places them onto the floor, one by one, like a puzzle.

John watches him go. Taps his fingers.

               JOHN  
     Anything interesting?

Quite a number of things, apparently.

               SHERLOCK  
          (handing John evidence)  
     License. Seems to be him. Thomas Owens.

John frowns. Thomas Owens. No - never heard of him.

               JOHN  
     Okay.

               SHERLOCK  
          (handing John more evidence)  
     Insurance card. Debit card.

          (beat)  
     Railcard.

On John, as he remembers the blue and orange leaflet from earlier - a Railcard advert, and a particularly unlucky one at that.

               JOHN  
          (citing the slogan)  
     "NO WORRIES TRAVELLING".

Sherlock raises an eyebrow...

               SHERLOCK  
          (in thought)  
     Bon voyage.

...and continues his work. He pulls off the man’s wedding ring. Holds it up, turns it inbetween two fingers. Pouts. Places it on the clean end of the wooden shelf below the window.

That deduction earlier - John remembers there was something he’d wanted to ask.

               JOHN  
     You said his stuff originally was - all across the floor. Why - I mean in the first place? He doesn't seem that much of a messy chap to me.

               SHERLOCK  
     No, they were about to reach London anyway. The murderer walks in, kills Mr Owens...

          (beat)  
     Ah. Obvious. They start rummaging through his luggage.

John pulls the opened sports bag towards him. It looks normal, just a bunch of clothes.

               JOHN  
          (examining the insides)  
     Must have been looking for something specific.

               SHERLOCK  
          (from under the bunk bed)  
     Correct.

He pulls out a mobile phone with a broken glass display. It’s bent! Deliberately damaged, with brute force - pieces of glass have fallen off. For the first time, Sherlock looks astonished.

               JOHN  
     Now that’s gone.

          (beat)  
     Any idea why his phone got destroyed?

               SHERLOCK  
     Fifteen.

That was way too quick - John chuckles. Then frowns - _did_ he really mean that?

               SHERLOCK  
     Maybe more, depends on the content.

          (fascinated)  
     The bigger question is... Why did they leave it behind?

               JOHN  
     Could be a mistake.

               SHERLOCK  
          (getting up)  
     We can not afford to disregard it as that, it might as well be a threat or message. I need to talk to Elsa.

               JOHN  
     Elsa -? Who’s Elsa?

          (beat)  
     Sherlock?

CUT TO:

The polished inside of the wedding ring, gleaming golden beneath a smear of blood. A delicate engraving reads the name "ELSA".


	3. Running Idle

EXT. OWENS FAMILY APARTMENT

Edgware, North London.

We open on a police car, parked halfway on the pavement of a simple street. There’s 3- to 4-storey buildings on either side. A chain bakery, a photo studio, a cafe. A MAN ON A BIKE passes by, doesn’t really register the police car, followed by a BUSY WOMAN with a TODDLER - he turns his head, stumbles a little.

Lestrade, and Sherlock and John behind him, walk up to an apartment building. According to the row of doorbells and the arrangement of letterboxes, the Owens’ flat is on the ground floor.

 _Squeak_. Sherlock peers inside the Owens’ letterbox. Two envelopes. Stamped in red ink - reminders? _Tink, tink_. The flap falls shut again.

Somebody’s tried to liven up the building’s front door: there’s a feeble-looking plant and a pinwheel in a pot, a doormat with stripes on it...

Lestrade pulls himself together, takes a deep breath. It’s not going to be easy, telling them the news. It _never_ is - but there’s no way around it.

               LESTRADE  
     Right.

He presses the doorbell. A _RRING_ is heard from the inside.

For a while, nothing happens, and the three of them just look a bit lost, wait. No response on the intercom. The pinwheel turns in a breeze. Each second passes painfully slowly.

On Sherlock’s face. Impatient - why is this taking so long...

 _Buzzzz. Click_. The front door opens.

The ground floor hallway leads straight to the entrance of the Owens’ flat, next to the bottom of the in-house staircase. _Click_. The doorknob turns, ELSA OWENS peeks out. Ponytail, fleece shirt, jeans - house wife.

               LESTRADE  
          (introducing himself)  
     Detective Inspector Lestrade. These are my colleagues Sherlock Holmes and Dr John Watson. Are you Mrs Elsa Owens?

               ELSA  
     Yes.

          (beat)  
     Are you the police?

She looks worried - frightened even.

               SHERLOCK  
     To some extent.

               LESTRADE  
     Mrs Owens, may we some in?

               ELSA  
     Yes. Yes of course.

INT. OWENS FAMILY APARTMENT - DAY

Lestrade and John enter the Owens’ apartment after Elsa. Sherlock takes a moment to inspect the door, and follows.

CUT TO:

Fast snapshots of the family coathanger, pictureframes on the wall. A bowl of keys, a headset with a microphone attached. A pair of dumbbells placed on top of a cupboard.

With a shy but polite gesture, Elsa invites them into the homely living room. She seems nervous, embarrassed by their prescence. Quickly walks to the window, closes it and pulls the curtains shut.

               LESTRADE  
     Mrs Owens, have a seat, please.

               ELSA  
          (flustered)  
     Have you come because of the rent arrears?

          (beat)  
     Could we wait for my husband, Inspector? He should be arriving any moment.

Lestrade tries again. Leads her on in sitting down on a sofa chair himself.

               LESTRADE  
     Please.

Elsa sits down on the couch, unsure what to expect.

All eyes rest on her.

               LESTRADE  
     Mrs Owens, your husband was found shot dead on the Penzance night train early this morning.

Silence, and yet it’s like Lestrade’s words reverberate round the living room. Elsa’s mouth opens just a tiny bit.

               LESTRADE  
     Paramedics were immediately called to the scene. They could do nothing but confirm his death. I am - terribly sorry.

Elsa doesn’t seem to register anything - sits stiff in her spot, her world crumbling. Stares into empty space.

               ELSA  
     T- Tom’s dead, Tom’s been shot?

               LESTRADE  
     Scotland Yard are looking for a woman highly suspected of having committed the crime.

Elsa looks from Lestrade, to Sherlock, to John. Tears form in her eyes.

John quickly moves next to her onto the couch.

               JOHN  
     Mrs Owens? Elsa -

Her whole body shivers. He puts a hand on her arm, helps her to calm down.

               JOHN  
     This - is tough, but please, help us. Can you do that?

Elsa closes her eyes. To recollect herself. She nods.

               ELSA  
     Yes -

Okay. Lestrade folds his hands, leans forward, is about to ask her the first question, but -

 _Swoosh_. Sherlock steps _on and over the coffee table_ and sits on it - blocking Lestrade from Elsa’s view.

               SHERLOCK  
     Excellent. Mrs Owens, be honest. Is it possible your husband was having an affair?

Sherlock’s eyes pierce into hers.

               ELSA  
          (stuttering with surprise)  
     No! Oh, please no. Why would you have to assume that?

               SHERLOCK  
     Are you sure?

John, next to Elsa, exchanges a _look_ with Sherlock. Have you gone _crazy_?? Elsa stares at the floor, in shock.

               ELSA  
     He never would have done something like that to me and the kids. He just called me yesterday - and told me he loved me - and... it’s - I wish I -

She eventually looks up. Her face - Sherlock briefly can’t help but wonder if _she’s_ trying to read _him_ , too, just like _he_ reads _her_.

Ohhh. She weighs up options, that’s it -

               ELSA  
     I can’t talk about Tom. Please leave.

No. No, wait. What?

               SHERLOCK  
     No, Mrs Owens, listen. A murderer - _his murderer_ \- is out there somewhere and we need your assistance. Did your husband have enemies?

What, that’s harsh, where did that come from?!

               JOHN  
     Sherlock...

Elsa - can’t take it. Falls apart. Tears run across her cheeks.

               ELSA  
     Enemies?? I don’t know. Tom wasn’t a criminal.

               SHERLOCK  
          (to Elsa)  
     Oh, come on, without your cooperation this is gonna be a nightmare.

               JOHN  
     Sherlock!

               ELSA  
     I don’t know, he kept a lot to himself.

So be it. Fine. We’re going to do this the hard way. Sherlock gets up from the coffee table, puts his hands into the pockets of his coat and leaves. John gets up as well, but realizes about halfway across the living room he’s too late to do anything anyway.

Elsa is able to see Lestrade again, who looks baffled.

               ELSA  
          (weary)  
     I can’t help you.

               LESTRADE  
     Mrs Owens, it’s okay, calm down. You have done nothing wrong.

               JOHN  
          (turns round)  
     If anything, we have. Sorry.

          (beat)  
     That was highly unprofessional.

On Elsa. Looks forlorn. Closes her eyes and tries to breathe.

               LESTRADE  
          (as comforting as possible)  
     My sincere condolences, Mrs Owens.

That couldn’t have gone any worse, could it.

EXT. OWENS FAMILY APARTMENT - DAY

On Sherlock, on the pavement outside the Owens’ apartment building. Waiting and sulking.

John marches through the open front door, spots him just standing there. What? Can’t _believe_ his nerve. Heads towards Sherlock - who continues looking across the street, acting unimpressed.

               JOHN  
          (tense)  
     You might wanna walk back in there and say you’re sorry.

               SHERLOCK  
     Don’t get preachy.

               JOHN  
          (fuming)  
     You’ve upset her - She’s lost her husband - Go and apologize.

               SHERLOCK  
     I’m not here to console that woman, John.

Is that it, yeah??

               JOHN  
     Certainly. You’re here to solve the case. So am I, would you believe. Only _you_ \- feel the need to act like a dick!

 _Wumpth_. The noise of the front door falling shut ends their argument. Lestrade walks up to them.

               LESTRADE  
     That was. Bad.

               SHERLOCK  
          (affronted)  
     What is it with you both? Focus! Mrs Owens...

He points at the building -

               SHERLOCK  
     ...is hiding something.

               LESTRADE  
     What?

          (beat)  
     Why would _she_ even want to interfere with the investigation?

               JOHN  
     How can you be sure?

               SHERLOCK  
     Someone left when we came, who had forced themselves in earlier. Someone she was _reluctant_ to tell us about.

They start walking.

               LESTRADE  
     How, how did you know?

               SHERLOCK  
     This is a ground floor flat. Easy enough to make an escape.

               JOHN  
     You mean the intruder fled through the window - Mrs Owens closed it when we entered the living room?

               SHERLOCK  
     Yes.

          (to Lestrade)  
     Could have been airing out the room, you say.

               LESTRADE  
     I didn’t say anything.

               SHERLOCK  
     Must’ve been your face.

               LESTRADE  
     My face - is fine.

               SHERLOCK  
     The _print_ on the sofa. It was in front of the window she closed. You’d expect the imprint of people’s buttocks, wouldn’t you, not the one of a foot. Need I say more.

John stops in his tracks -

               JOHN  
     Shouldn’t we go back then?

               SHERLOCK  
     No.

          (pointedly)  
     It won’t do any good. Rather inconveniently, she just sat on it. So -

He makes a motion with his hands that mimics a flutter of wings. They reach the police car. Lestrade walks round to the driver’s side.

               JOHN  
          (to Sherlock)  
     How the hell did you see a footprint on the chequered fabric?

               SHERLOCK  
     Ah John, how can one not.

He sees John’s face and back-paddles.

               SHERLOCK  
     I tend to notice things.

               LESTRADE  
          (from across the bonnet)  
     Okay. What do we do?

Sherlock eyes the car. Hm. Actually...

               SHERLOCK  
          (quite politely)  
     Lestrade. Would you be so kind as to get into that and drive away with it?

On Lestrade: Excuse me what?

CUT TO:

Later. The police car turns the corner. Sherlock and John cross the road and enter a cafe opposite the apartment building they just left.

INT. A CAFE IN EDGWARE - DAY

John and Sherlock are the only customers. They take a seat next to the window.

It’s a good view to observe the Owens’ building. Sherlock gazes at their doorstep. John picks up the menu card, scans the options - and puts it back down.

               JOHN  
     Why’d you send him away?

               SHERLOCK  
          (to the window)  
     Lestrade?

          (beat)  
     Whoever was with Elsa had to leave abruptly. They might return, when they feel it’s _safe_ to do so.

Ah. John raises an eyebrow, leans back in his chair.

               JOHN  
     Not if there’s a police car parked in front of the house.

Sherlock doesn’t reply.

               JOHN  
     So we wait.

               SHERLOCK  
     Let’s observe carefully. Map out a strategy.

               JOHN  
     Mh.

          (beat)  
     We’re essentially gonna be sitting here for hours, aren’t we.

               SHERLOCK  
          (turns to John)  
     Does that bother you?

CUT TO:

A short while after. They have settled down, taken off their coat and jacket, which hang over the backs of their seats. John’s ordered lunch, happily munches on it.

We hear a _notification jingle_ and _buzz_ coming from a phone on the table -

Sherlock stretches to reach it. Pulls earplugs out of his coat behind him, connects them to his phone - then holds up one of them, wordlessly offering it to John.

Who, mildly confused, stops cutting his fried egg -

They put the plugs into their ears at the same time.

Audio menu icons appear in a swipe across the bottom of the frame (as if moved by fingertips onto a screen). Press " _PLAY >_".

The icons are swiped away again in a brisk fashion - followed by a swiping transition dissolving the whole frame, and revealing...

INT. TRAIN DEPOT OFFICE - DAY

A FLASHBACK. (We are about to hear audio from Lestrade’s interviews earlier that day, dolly away from a dictophone on a desk.) Lestrade and his colleague wait at their improvised interviewing station.

WHIP PAN TO:

The first interview - the label " _TRACK 1: Train Guard_ " pops up and vanishes. The Train Guard, wearing his uniform, with sweat pearls on his forehead like we last saw him, sits in the chair opposite Lestrade.

               LESTRADE  
     State your full name.

Close up on the Train Guard’s face.

               TRAIN GUARD  
     David Hemsey.

               LESTRADE  
     Now, Mr Hemsey, you found Mr Owens injured in his compartment.

               TRAIN GUARD  
     Yes. He had ordered a coffee. I was going to bring it to him.

               LESTRADE  
     When was that?

               TRAIN GUARD  
     I went to wake him up at 5, that’s when I asked if he wanted anything. When I went back he was... he was, you know. I phoned for help as fast as I could.

WHIP PAN TO:

The next interview. Lestrade scribbles on a piece of paper. " _TRACK 2: Dunya Mansell_ " pops up and vanishes. A woman wearing a green silk blouse sits in the second chair, crossing her legs.

               SILK BLOUSE WOMAN  
     They were having dinner together. In the on-board restaurant. What can I say, they were fighting the whole time.

               COLLEAGUE  
     You recall what the argument was about?

               SILK BLOUSE WOMAN  
     No, I was sitting, ahm, four or five tables away? I mean, he kept on shouting, she was trying to get him to shut up. She lost her temper eventually and left. I had a bad feeling about them, I can tell you that.

               COLLEAGUE  
     Can you describe the woman?

               SILK BLOUSE WOMAN  
     Of course, yeah.

WHIP PAN TO:

The next interview. " _TRACK 3: Grace Davignon_ " pops up and fades. A middle-aged businesswoman appears in the interview chair, nervously peeling nailpolish off her fingernails.

               LESTRADE  
     Mrs Davignon. What did you hear?

The woman’s voice trembles as she answers the question.

               MRS DAVIGNON  
     They argued.

               LESTRADE  
     Okay. One of the other passengers confirmed that.

               MRS DAVIGNON  
     That’s not all, Inspector. The man, the one who died. He said the woman had murdered someone!

There is a pause on the recording.

               LESTRADE  
     Can you tell us exactly what he said?

               MRS DAVIGNON  
     I know you killed him! Jack! You’ll pay for it!

          (beat)  
     I was right there. I’m scared, they noticed I heard everything. The man even said to me: What, is something wrong? Before the woman left. And she _shot him_ , after that. The one you ran after Inspector? God, I, I sat just next to them.

WHIP PAN TO:

The next interview: " _TRACK 4: Travis Ormsby_ " pops up and vanishes. The male passenger from sleeping car No 7, who was shoved out of the way by the woman in the parka and running shoes, appears standing next to the interview chair.

               MALE PASSENGER  
     I’d say she was about this tall.

He gestures someone’s height with his hands.

               LESTRADE  
     Can you picture her face for me?

The icon " _PAUSE II_ " being pressed pops up and vanishes. So do the male passenger, the dictophone, the desk, Lestrade and his colleague. Instead, there’s bright lights now, illuminating the central portion of the room.

The woman appears and steps into the frame. At first we only see her back, the parka’s hood over her head. We hurtle round, see her properly for the first time - in the middle of the frame, fronting us. She lowers the parka’s hood, reveals her face, a cheeky grin spreads across it...

A swiping transition dissolves the frame...

INT. A CAFE IN EDGWARE - DAY

Another _notification jingle_ and _buzz_ , a file opens. We see Sherlock’s phone in his hand, displaying a photofit sketch. Zoom away -

Sherlock and John - connected by the earphone cords - both look at the picture.

               SHERLOCK  
     Know her?

John thinks about it for a bit.

               JOHN  
     Nope.

They remove the earplugs.

               SHERLOCK  
     Ever heard of a mysterious dead Jack?

On John. What -? You are _not_ seriously asking me that, there’s thousands of Jacks in London, let alone the rest of the country -

               JOHN  
          (deadpan)  
     Actually, I think I have - he drowned next to an iceberg in the Atlantic, we should definitely look into it.

Sherlock just stares at him - confused. What?

               JOHN  
     Oh come on you must’ve seen Titanic?!

A pause, both seem baffled in their own way.

               SHERLOCK  
     Why exactly are you under the impression I would subject myself to that?

               JOHN  
     It’s a classic, everybody’s seen it -

Another pause. A long one -

               SHERLOCK  
     You amaze me.

Sherlock puts down the phone, distracted by something on the street outside. A car has stopped. A man in his 60s and two school kids get out.

INTERCUT WITH:

EXT. OWENS FAMILY APARTMENT - DAY

The front door opens and Elsa waves hello, distraught, while the man takes a pair of schoolbags out of the back of the car - he and the kids hurry to get to her...

Elsa quickly talks to the man, one of the children clings to her leg -

               SHERLOCK  
          (boredly commenting)  
     Her father and her kids.

               JOHN  
     Nice to know someone’s looking after her.

Sherlock half-heartedly forces a smile at that, taps the table with visible impatience.

Elsa and her family close the door behind them.

               SHERLOCK  
     No sign of miscreants for hours. This is exhausting.

               JOHN  
     What is?

               SHERLOCK  
     Waiting.

          (beat)  
     Suburbia, just look at it. The dullest form of existence.

He rolls his eyes with mock exhaustion.

               JOHN  
     Well why do you think people spy on their neighbours.

EXT. BART’S HOSPITAL - DAY

We’re back in the busy part of London - in front of the prominent structure.

Lestrade hurries across the street. Cars and a taxi pass by, someone honks -

He proceeds into the building.

INT. BART’S HOSPITAL - CORRIDOR - DAY

Lestrade runs into MOLLY HOOPER, wearing ordinary clothes - clearly off work at the moment.

               MOLLY  
          (startled)  
     Greg - hello.

INT. BART’S HOSPITAL - MORGUE - DAY

Molly and Lestrade enter.

               MOLLY  
          (throwing on a labcoat)  
     That’s the one you wanted me to take a look at, isn’t it.

She approaches Mr Owens’ newly-arrived corpse on a slab. His body is half covered by a white cloth, his hands are wrapped in paper bags.

Lestrade follows after her.

               LESTRADE  
     Yeah. Thanks.

               MOLLY  
     You said it was urgent?

               LESTRADE  
     Sorry.

               MOLLY  
     No it’s okay. I’ll see what I can do.

We pan over a table with orderly put post mortem utensils, a bright cold light is switched on...

Back to Molly. Now wearing gloves and safety goggles - we proceed to a short montage of her working through the forensics protocol. Fingernail clips. _Clic, clic, clic_. Polyvinyl alcohol on a soft brush. Hair tests, fingerprints...

INT. A CAFE IN EDGWARE - EVENING

A chunk of time has passed, the scene outside the window has turned dark.

Sherlock scrolls through his phone. Glances at John dozing in the chair opposite him. Checks the street, not expecting to see anything interesting at all...

Hold on!

All his senses spring to life. Elsa leaves the Owens’ building - on her own! She looks different, surprisingly well put together?! Wears a dress, carries a small handbag.

               SHERLOCK  
          (shaking John)  
     John. John! Get ready!

               JOHN  
     Ugh, what?

          (he notices)  
     Oh!

They throw on their coat and jacket and head out, quickly. A tiny bell _rings_ , as the cafe’s door shuts behind them. Show time!

EXT. THE TUBE - EDGWARE STATION - EVENING

We follow Elsa, barely recognizable from before, determined, as she makes her way into the underground. Changed her fleece shirt and jeans for a blue dress under a trench coat. A small black handbag dangles from her wrist.

She checks her watch. Wanders towards the middle of the platform, her ponytail bounces with every step.

Sherlock and John follow her. Keep their distance. Hide behind two separate columns by the start of the platform.

The train pulls on. Elsa gets on.

As soon as she has, Sherlock dashes forward - coat flying through the air - and rams his foot inbetween the tube doors of the first carriage. Glances over his shoulder. John jogs after him, looking left and right, as if he were crossing a street. They both hop inside, unseen. The doors close with a _beep beep beep beep_. 

And they’re off, into the tunnel, sway from side to side.

 _Rattle, rattle, rattle, rattle_. 

WHIP PAN TO:

Another tube station, in the middle of London. Their train pulls in. Sherlock and John observe reflections in the platform mirror designed for tube drivers from the doors of their carriage -

               SPEAKER VOICE  
     Mind - the gap.

A dot of blue. Elsa, getting off!

They do, too -

\- and find themselves surrounded by people in a bustling station in the middle of rush hour - high heels clacking about, briefcases, hustling, annoyed faces. They try to battle their way through the crowd, but...

Elsa’s already gone - swallowed almost immediately by the sea of irritable Londoners.

_Beep beep beep beep._

               JOHN  
          (as the train pulls away)  
     Oh bloody hell.

EXT. FANCY DOOR STEP - EVENING

Elsa steps into a foyer, takes a deep breath before she continues on into the building.

A PAGE BOY at the entrance registers her slightly dishevelled appearance, only to immediately return to teenage disinterest.

His eyes wander along the cobblestreet outside. Two BUSINESSMEN IN SUITS pass by a flickering lantern, shiver a bit in the cold - probably head to a pub...


	4. Pumping Blood

INT. HOTEL ROOM - EVENING

We dolly away from a sleek, varnished door - backwards into a room. See the keycard lock, several switches and a floorplan on a patterned wallpaper. A bathroom door to the side, a hotel closet - the lamp on it casts a cone of warm light...

 _Kock knock knock knock_.

As a fraction of the hotel bed comes into view, we see a person getting up, who's been sitting on the edge. A pair of legs pass in front of the camera. We're familiar with the footwear. It's running shoes.

The woman who jumped out of the train, and ran from the police, ELAINE WILLINGHAM, moves into sight. Positions herself behind the door to her hotel room.

Holds a gun, _her_ gun - at the ready. A closeup of her face reveals she's taking a moment. Hesitates. She _could_ use it, end some of her problems - now.

               VOICE  
     It's me, Elsa.

Elaine freezes. What??

What's _she_ doing here! Looks stunned - then extremely annoyed.

Elaine yanks the door open. Holds her gun at gunpoint with both hands - precaution. Sees Elsa - standing there, all on her own.

               ELAINE  
     Why are you here? I thought I'd made it clear, I need Tom.

Elsa marches into the room. Elaine moves round, continues to hold her gun at gunpoint, targets Elsa. Can't believe the nerve of her...

               ELSA  
     Did you kill him?

               ELAINE  
     Whoa, whoa.  


          (repositions her fingers on the gun)  
     What?

               ELSA  
     Tom. He's dead, Elaine.

On Elaine. This must be a joke, right? Elsa breathes heavily, shivers all over. There's blotches of red in her face - the two women stare at each other, neither of them looks away. Hurt and hatred in Elsa's eyes, distrust and contempt in Elaine's.

Tom's - dead? How -! No.

               ELAINE  
     What is this, some sort of trap?

               ELSA  
     You killed him. You told me yourself you _were on the same train_. They are looking for you.

She - isn't bluffing there...

Something's gone really, _really_ wrong. Elaine lowers her gun.

Rolls her eyes in despairing disbelief. Makes a half-turn away from Elsa, only to snap back at her. Elsa flinches -

               ELAINE  
     Yeah right. First I kill him, then I arrange a meeting. _Tsk_.

On Elsa - hadn't thought of that. Her face yields to a stony expression.

               ELSA  
          (defiant)  
     So tell me.

          (beat)  
     What happened?

               ELAINE  
     I don't know. I honestly don't know. He wanted to meet me down in Penzance - I was busy. He just... suddenly showed up on the night train.

On Elsa. I am supposed to believe that?!

EXT. TUBE STATION - EVENING

Focus on Sherlock. He resembles a statue - has put his arms behind his back, his eyes closed. In the middle of the platform - alone. Stands on the spot where we last caught a glimpse of Elsa.

Sherlock mind vision. We turn, slowly, and glowing arrows, resembling the ones directing passengers to emergency exits on planes, stretch across the floor to all possible exits of the station - they light up like holes of a pin-ball-machine, each assigned with a number of seconds. Once we have come full circle...

Back to Sherlock's face. He takes a deep breath.

               SHERLOCK  
     What's the time?

Flings his eyes open...

...and the real platform is back - he is surrounded by the London public waiting for their tube home, stands next to John.

               JOHN  
          (bends backwards to read the overhead display)  
     Almost 9 o'clock.

          (beat)  
     People tend to set their meetings, any meetings, at the full hour, don't they. So Elsa's gonna meet - someone - at 9. Must be important, she changed her clothes. That blue dress.

               SHERLOCK  
     You remember the type of handbag?

               JOHN  
     Small, black leather, smooth, probably some kind of fake, silver ornaments. How is that important?

John looks at Sherlock, who can't help but smile? Ohh, great -

               JOHN  
          (in disbelief)  
     You're messing with me...

               SHERLOCK  
      I was testing your short term visual memory.

John lets out a humourless little laugh -

               JOHN  
      I was trying to help!

               SHERLOCK  
      Don't worry you were rather impressive.

               JOHN  
          (reflexively)  
     No -

A prolonged pause.

               SHERLOCK  
          (in thought)  
     I shall not be doing it again.

               JOHN  
      Better.

Sherlock doesn't reply.

               JOHN  
          (in an effort to carry on)  
     Okay, let's get back to the subject at hand. Elsa Owens. What _is_ she doing in that dress? Isn't it a bit too soon for a date?

Yes? Sherlock briefly checks John's face -

               SHERLOCK  
      Ah, good, you _were_ being rethorical.

          (beat)  
     Have you seen the hairdo? Or, the lack of it, to be exact? Her attire - it's purely functional, she needed to blend in with a specific crowd.

               JOHN  
      We're looking for a fundraising gala.

               SHERLOCK  
      No.

               JOHN  
      A restaurant?

               SHERLOCK  
      Nope.

               JOHN  
      Girls' night on the town.

John, please.

               SHERLOCK  
      You need to work on dresscode.

               JOHN  
      Oh shut up.

John turns to a billboard on the station wall.

               JOHN  
      How about a nice place to meet someone in private. How about - this?

On Sherlock. His face lights up - oh, this _is_ good. This is perfect!

The picture shifts into focus. Humberstead Hotel - the photo is heavily brushed up compared to the real thing, but its entrance definitely resembles the foyer we've seen Elsa walk into moments ago.

The excerpt transforms into the real-life hotel...

...and a view of the street corner it is on. We can make out a tube station exit about 100 metres down the road. Next to the entrance door to the hotel's foyer, an arched gateway leads to a parking lot - dimly lit by warm light shining from behind airy curtains of a few guest room windows.

INT. HOTEL ROOM - EVENING

               ELAINE  
      I would never - could never - have hurt him. You know about that, right?

She and Elsa, forced opposites, face each other. Elsa has a hard time accepting Elaine's words - but knows they ring true. Hates to admit it to herself.

               ELSA  
      He called me and said he'd received 15,000 pounds. There was another deal... wasn't there.

               ELAINE  
      Stay out of this.

               ELSA  
      Wasn't there! I thought - had hoped - he managed to break away from you, from all the mess. A long time ago.

               ELAINE  
      He was an excellent liar. You are easily fooled. I'm not surprised.

A tiny smile of pity on her lips, Elaine walks over to the window. Moodily looks outside.

               ELAINE  
      You have never known what he was like, the real Tom.

          (beat)  
     You should not have come here, Elsa.

On Elsa. Elaine's words struck a nerve, deep within her being. Foolish goodwill Elsa, was that all she really was? Always playing along, all this time. Coming into this hotel room in the middle of the night...

Wait a second! Elaine's eyes narrow, as she spots - Sherlock and John! - on the pavement, about to walk into the hotel. All hints of sentiment are gone instantly.

               ELAINE  
      It's them again!

She rushes up to Elsa. A calculating pause.

               ELAINE  
          (with cold irony)  
     Oh no. You almost had me.

          (through clenched teeth)  
     Go on. Whose game are you playing. Who is that??

EXT. FANCY DOOR STEP - EVENING

John and Sherlock approach the Page Boy.

               PAGE BOY  
      Good evening. You got a reservation?

               JOHN  
      Ah, what? No.

On the Page Boy, blank-faced - well - then...

               PAGE BOY  
      You wish to make one?

Sherlock squeezes through, desperate to resolve the situation. Pulls the keys to 221B from his coat, shows them to the Page Boy.

               SHERLOCK  
          (nonchalantly)  
     Sorry, my friend left her house keys behind. She's leaving tomorrow, so. We better tend to it.

               PAGE BOY  
      Ah, who?

               SHERLOCK  
      She must've come in just a few minutes ago. Blue dress?

               PAGE BOY  
      Oh okay. Yeah, I saw her. Went upstairs. She did seem -

               SHERLOCK  
          (happily)  
     Excellent. Thank you very much -

And he's off.

               PAGE BOY  
          (to John)  
     Sorry what?

               JOHN  
      Ah, nothing. You were saying?

               PAGE BOY  
      She seemed like all over the place.

John, obviously in a rush - just gives him both thumbs up. Earns a bewildered look - and hurries after Sherlock through the foyer, looking for some kind of overview of the floors...

INT. HOTEL ROOM - EVENING

Elaine hastily collects her stuff. Throws on her parka, picks up her backpack from the bed. Elsa is stood in the corner, has her eyes fixed on Elaine's weapon on the duvet.

               ELAINE  
      I didn't kill Tom, and I don't know who did either!

               ELSA  
          (stepping out of the corner)  
     I believe you -

               ELAINE  
      Do you now. Are you gonna tell them the same thing, too, hey?

               ELSA  
      Elaine! If you're innocent, they can probably help you! If you let them! They'll find who really did what they did.

Elaine fastens her backpack, picks up the gun Elsa's been staring at.

               ELAINE  
          (ready to leave now)  
     I have a job to finish. Don't get involved, don't tell anybody we met, keep your family safe.

She grabs Elsa by the arm, and they both move towards the hotel door.

               ELAINE  
      Don't look for me again. Look for me and you _will_ wind up dead. We trust each other on that?

Her grip tightens. Their eyes meet - and Elsa understands. This whole thing may be bigger than just them...

Conversation over. Elaine lets go of her.

Then she switches off the lights. They're plunged into near darkness, except for a strip of light from beneath the small gap under the door...

CUT TO:

INT. HOTEL CORRIDOR - EVENING

The other side of the varnished door, hurriedly being openend, as the two women leave. Elaine sprints down the hallway, round a corner, out of sight...

Elsa moves in the opposite direction as her, towards the main staircase. Clinging to the wall as she does.

She throws a careful glimpse down the stairs, and winces as she spots Sherlock and John climbing towards her.

               SHERLOCK  
      Mind if we join your night out, Mrs Owens?

               ELSA  
      Night out?

She tries to block the top of the staircase with her arms - unsuccessfully. Sherlock maneuvers her aside, looks her in the eye.

               SHERLOCK  
      You've already met your date, haven't you.

John squeezes past them.

               ELSA  
          (to both)  
     Have you been following me?

               SHERLOCK  
      A bit. There's only a handful of places you could have gone.

John spots the ajar door to one of the hotel rooms.

               JOHN  
      Over here, Sherlock! Quickly!

EXT. EMERGENCY STAIRCASE - EVENING

Elaine swings herself down the emergency staircase onto a metal roof. _Thumpp_ -

\- she's on a shed in the hotel's parking lot. Sees the _arched gateway_ to the main road. Runs atop of the roof - _clang, clang, clang_ \- in it's general direction.

Hops down onto a sturdy half-wall isolating cars from dustbins. Nervously checks her back -

INT. HOTEL ROOM - EVENING

The door flies open. _Wham_. First John, then Sherlock, crash into Elaine's now deserted hotel room.

               JOHN  
      Crap! They're gone!

Elsa stumbles after them.

               ELSA  
      It's not her you want!

               SHERLOCK  
          (tense, towering on top of the hotel bed)  
     Who? Where'd she go?

Elsa clings onto John.

               ELSA  
      Don't! She didn't do it!

          (beat)  
     Stop!

Her pleading is met with much earned ignorance. Time to finally cut it out, would you mind!

Sherlock swings the windows open, leans out.

And spots Elaine in the parking lot. She looks up. Their eyes meet. She points her gun at him, aims - and fires, without hesitation! _Bang_!!

The windowframe shatters with a violent _crash_! Pieces of wood tear through the airy curtains - Sherlock ducks into a squat with a turn, barely catches himself, almost loses balance. One hand on the floor, his eyes wide open -

That was a close one - but he's unhurt.

 _Bang_!! _Smash_! A second shot! Pieces of glass shatter on the floor...

Elsa screams!! Her hands clench into John's jacket. The both of them almost fall to the floor because of it -

               JOHN  
      Shit!!

CUT TO:

A stylized sequence of events -

SLOW MOTION: Bulletcases hit the parking lot concrete. _Tink... tink..._

SPEED UP: On Sherlock's eyes. He realizes in superspeed _who_ he just saw - the woman, the photofit picture!!

Camera spin. Next to him - close to the window - a chair.

John instinctively reaches for his pistol. It proves difficult, with Elsa pulling on his jacket, knuckles turning white.

               JOHN  
          (to Elsa)  
      Let go!

Sherlock meets John's eye -

               SHERLOCK  
          (to John)  
      It's her.

To SLOW MOTION: Sherlock enters deadlock, like a blinkered horse.

John frees himself, finally gets hold of his weapon - only to let go of it, as he realizes Sherlock's plan...

SPEED UP: Camera spin.

Sherlock turns, takes a running jump onto the chair, and flings himself out of the opened window.

SLOW MOTION: As seen from below - Sherlock flies through the night sky, his arms row to keep his balance in mid air, his coat flaps behind him like a strange pair of wings...

CUT TO:

 _Zoom_ through the smashed window: John's face, Elsa's face -

Lastly, a _heavy, echoing clang, almost like a church bell_ \- John's pistol hitting the floor.

EXT. HOTEL PARKING LOT - EVENING

_Thumpp_. Sherlock lands on the metal roof, same as Elaine did, and immediately dashes forward. Confident, not even thinking about looking back -

JUMP CUT TO:

\- onto the half-wall shielding off dustbins from cars. Another leap -

JUMP CUT TO:

\- and across the concrete -

               JOHN's VOICE  
          (resounding from a window)  
      Sheeerrrlockk!!

\- out of the arched gate, to the street. Racing after the woman he just saw...

INT. HOTEL ROOM - EVENING

John rushes to the window, but noone's in the parking lot anymore.

               JOHN  
      No no no, you gotta be kidding me.

He looks straight down - no way in hell. His eyes wander across the shattered windowframe - and he notices something - stuck there? Do what Sherlock would do. He impatiently wiggles the shiny object out of the splintered wood - a bullet!! Pockets it. Oh Sherlock! You - blithering idiot! John turns round, and hurries towards the door.

               ELSA  
      Is he going to be okay?

John stops for a second as he heads past her. He looks as if he's not sure _what_ to say.

               JOHN  
      You - stay here.

And Elsa does.

               JOHN  
          (on the corridor)  
      Sherlock!

And he's gone.

Elsa is left alone in the dark hotel room, oddly out of place, unsure what to do. She adjusts the chair's position to right below the window. Climbs on to kneel on the seat, her hands grasp the back rest - and stares out into the night. There's nothing she can do, nothing _to be done_ -

And she lets herself sink down to sit on her heels. A gentle breeze moves the torn, airy curtains either side of her back and forth...

EXT. THE STREETS OF LONDON - EVENING

_Tap, tap, tap_. Elaine leads the way in zig-zagging through the evening crowd, hides the hand holding her gun in the insides of her parka. Her running style is well-composed, she takes deep breaths. Her backpack jumps up and down, seems to be _heavy_...

The city's lights fly past, the noise of a car gets distorted as it moves by. She turns a corner. _Tap, tap, tap_. Sherlock sprints after her, relentlessly - he's slowly catching up! They're already well past the tube station...

They turn another corner leading into a back street, are just a few metres apart from each other now.

Elaine turns round, pulls her gun! But -

Sherlock is too close already - mid-jump, about to tackle her from behind, about to punch the gun from her hands, a winning expression on his face, when -

\- he is - _slam_ \- bodychecked out of the way!!

He hits into a brick wall. There's two gentlemen in suits. Where did _they_ come from?! He stumbles forward, trying to see what's happening -

 _Rizzizzizz_ \- his ears echo with the same forsaken frequency. What was that - she had a gun - who are they -

Sherlock spots an earpiece, before the tazer goes again.

 _Rizzizzizz_!

Feels his senses go numb, plummets to the ground, his vision blurs...

Elaine, already having gone backwards, almost falls over her own feet in surprise. He - the madman in the coat, whoever he is - on the ground, is he _dead_?? Who the hell are the other two??

One of the men in suits watches her, but doesn't move. _What_?? She can't think straight, pants for air - this is not the time.

She runs off - again. Climbs over a gate...

But the men in suits don't follow her anyway. They quietly put their equipment away, walk off in the other direction - their job is done.

Sherlock's simply left where he fell, collapsed onto the floor. In full glory just minutes ago, reduced to a pitiful sight now. Dirt and dust blow over his numb body, there's bruises and bloody scratches on his cheek.

His phone lights up and rings, slowly slides out of the silken inside pocket of his coat. _Rring rring rring_. _Rring rring rring_...

But Sherlock doesn't even hear, doesn't move.

The sound eerily echos from the walls on either side of the empty back street. Cold stone. An ugly street light beneath the stars. Then the ringtone stops -

We slowly back away...

CUT TO:

EXT. A DIFFERENT PAVEMENT ON A DIFFERENT ROAD - NIGHT

John, jogging - the knight in shining armour.

He clutches his mobile in his hand, hastes through the streets of London - some are noisy, some are quiet - but there's no sign of Sherlock in any of them...

Oh, what have you done.

He grows more desperate by the minute, more and more worried what he's going to find round the next corner...

EXT. IN FRONT OF HUMBERSTEAD HOTEL - NIGHT

Blue lights flash.

Elsa steps out of the front door, down the fancy steps, secured by Lestrade. Gets into a police van. Lestrade closes the door. _Slam_. What a case. First a shooting in a train, now a shooting at a hotel...

His kind nature compels him to take a look back towards the entrance.

We see the Page Boy's face. He stares at the police van, doesn't even stop as he gets wrapped in a blanket by an officer -

INT. POLICE VAN - NIGHT

Elsa, squeezing her hands on the back seat.

EXT. IN FRONT OF HUMBERSTEAD HOTEL - NIGHT

Back on Lestrade, his phone _pings_. He reads the message:

[from JOHN WATSON - sent at 21:18]

"found him"

               LESTRADE  
      Oh, please tell me -

 _Ping_. A second text, hurriedly typed out:

[from JOHN WATSON - sent at 21:18]

"hes ok"

EXT. THE STREETS OF LONDON - NIGHT

John kneels by Sherlock's side, who's still lying motionless on the street. An exposed wrist of Sherlock's tells us John's taken his pulse.

               JOHN  
      Sherlock?

God he looks awful. Abrasions, hit his head - John checks for anything worse.

               SHERLOCK  
          (waking up)  
      Heh.

               JOHN  
      What happened?

               SHERLOCK  
      Later.

Okay, fine. Fine. We'll handle the _what_ \- whenever. John sighs.

               JOHN  
      At least tell me... _Why_ do you have to _this_?

               SHERLOCK  
      I'm a detective, John.

               JOHN  
      No, you're out of your mind.

Gambling with your life.

               JOHN  
      She _shot_ at you, and you -! You - Sherlock Holmes - could've died. Just like that. Tonight!

          (beat)  
     How many times do I need to say it, before it - comes true! Sherlock.

          (beat)  
     What am I supposed to do then, mh. Work all the new cases alone?

On Sherlock. He looks terrible. Takes in every word. They're raw, and honest, and sad. And important.

               JOHN  
      It's like you don't care. About what happens to you, it's ridiculous. I _need you_ to start caring.

Caring is difficult. So many things are difficult.

               JOHN  
      You know, if it's of any importance, any relevance to you, at all.

               SHERLOCK  
      Please don't yell at me.

               JOHN  
      I'll try not to. Though, you know, it's _tempting_. Okay, now look at me - steady.

He cups his hands round Sherlock's head in order to keep him holding still for a while.

               SHERLOCK  
      Seriously don't. I think I got a concussion.

John checks Sherlock's eyes blinking at him. Moves from side to side of Sherlock's head while doing so. Wishes he had some proper light.

               JOHN  
      Steady.

          (beat)  
     Yeah you do. You were gone quite some time.

He puffs in relief.

               JOHN  
      You lucky bastard.


	5. Analytics

INT. 221A BAKER STREET - NIGHT

Mrs Hudson and Lestrade sit in Mrs Hudson's kitchen. Lestrade looks like he's done with everything, hasn't even bothered taking off his coat. Mrs Hudson on the other hand, in her kitchen apron and slippers, is in high spirits. Points towards the ceiling, 221B.

               MRS HUDSON  
     Isn't it lovely, the boys back together.

She _claps_ into her hands, delighted -

               MRS HUDSON  
     John returning to Baker Street.

               LESTRADE  
          (frowns)  
     What, he isn't moving back in, is he?

Mrs Hudson sighs. Then knocks against the kitchen wall, leans forward - gives Lestrade a meaningful look...

               MRS HUDSON  
          (whimsically)  
     Home is where the heart is, Inspector.

He barely manages a smile. She looks motherly concerned.

               MRS HUDSON  
     Cheer up a bit for me, would you. You do look miserable.

               LESTRADE  
     It's the case - you have no idea, Mrs Hudson.

INT. 221B BAKER STREET - LIVING ROOM - NIGHT

Sherlock, in his chair, legs crossed, lets an Aspirin drop into a glass of water. It _fizzes_.

John, in his armchair, seems exhausted.

Elsa, in her blue dress, sits in the client chair between the both of them. Put into checkmate. Stares into the fireplace.

               SHERLOCK  
     Explain yourself.

               ELSA  
     I didn't mean for this to happen.

Oh, for God's sake.

               JOHN  
     Elsa. Tell us what you know!

And Elsa gives in. Finally.

               ELSA  
     She's - an acquaintance. Her name's Elaine Willingham, she was a friend of Tom's. They met in Penzance, ages ago.

               JOHN  
     A friend?

               SHERLOCK  
     Ex-girlfriend, John.

               JOHN  
     Ah.

               SHERLOCK  
          (to Elsa)  
     Your husband lost his job. Why?

The answer gets stuck in her throat -

               ELSA  
     He -

          (beat)  
     How do you know all of that?

               SHERLOCK  
     I don't _know_ \- I'm a deductionist, I _deduce_. It's more fun. You hesitated when you mentioned Miss Willingham's connection to you and your husband. You - uncomfortable, she - his unrequited love. Regarding the unemployment - beard stubble, not the groomed kind, when we examined him; and _you_ have a headset with a microphone in your flat. No member of your family is much of a video game enthusiast, you are all getting your fair share of natural sunlight. Ergo - money troubles. Who of you has taken up the call centre minijob, you or your husband?

A pause. 

               ELSA  
     Me.

          (beat)  
     Sorry, ahm, I'm a bit overwhelmed. What was the question?

               JOHN  
     Tom lost his job.

               ELSA  
     He was a dockworker. At Penzance port. They were getting restructured, I think the government's cutting back. He wasn't the only one to become unemployed - workers were facing redundancy by the dozens - happened from one day to the next, too, it was mad! We had to move to London, to my parents' place.

               JOHN  
     Penzance port?

               ELSA  
     His salary hadn't been the best. Tom was frustrated -

          (beat)  
     It was hard work.

               JOHN  
     Okay, what happened?

               ELSA  
     Elaine. She saw an opportunity, talked my husband into all sorts of shady things back then.

          (beat)  
     He was to load and reload stuff for her - I don't know what exactly.

               SHERLOCK  
     Let's call it what it is, shall we - he was working for a band of smugglers. Excellent - finally, we're getting somewhere.

          (beat)  
     You know of it since when?

               ELSA  
          (desperate)  
     I only found out about the whole ordeal last month. I wish I never had. Tom changed so much in that time, for worse -

               JOHN  
     Did you - tell the police?

               ELSA  
     Mr Watson. Mr Holmes. Could you?

               SHERLOCK  
          (to John)  
     She didn't.

          (to Elsa)  
     Mrs Owens, you are full of fun surprises.

The corners of his mouth twitch -

For a few seconds the effort put into ignoring the constant throbbing at the back of his head really shows on Sherlock's face...

Which doesn't go unnoticed by John - time to wrap this up.

               JOHN  
     Anything else?

               ELSA  
     Honestly, that's all I know.

Hm. John frowns at the floor, pouts his lips, taps his fingers onto his chair's arm rest. The look on his face changes to an increasingly annoyed expression. He turns his head back to Elsa. Stares at her, perplexed -

               JOHN  
     Bullocks! You met with her, your husband's accomplice, today! In the hotel! You tried to stop us!

An uneasy pause. She starts sobbing.

               ELSA  
     I didn't want anything bad to happen -

John frowns.

               SHERLOCK  
     Keep going.

Elsa jerks round at the sound of his voice.

               ELSA  
     Elaine, she showed up on my doorstep this morning.

Sherlock leans back in his chair, knowingly raises an eyebrow. Exchanges a look with John, who folds his hands in his lap.

               ELSA  
     I couldn't stop her, she was furious. Shouted Tom had made a fool of her - and she would wait for him - in my living room. She took off when you arrived.

 _Flash_. Handheld, hurtling forward - a footprint on chequered fabric. _Flash_. To - Elaine, on her way out of the Owens' living room window. _Flash -_

               ELSA  
     She...

The next bit is hard to get out.

               JOHN  
     Continue.

               ELSA  
     She... She said...

               SHERLOCK  
     What?

               ELSA  
     She said something would happen to our kids. Should Tom not come to the hotel, to meet her. That's why _I_ went there.

Elsa sighs. Look from one man to the other, left to right, begging them with her eyes to understand.

John rubs his forehead. He gets her, and again - doesn't. Everybody makes mistakes, and she's been dragged into this whole thing, but - come on.

Sherlock slowly reaches for his glass, turns it round on the polished side table with his fingertips. Crucial puzzle pieces have fallen into place.

               SHERLOCK  
     Mrs Owens, do _you_ know what happened to Jack?

               ELSA  
     Who?

               JOHN  
     Your husband seemed convinced Elaine Willingham had murdered someone on the past and gotten away with it. Another man, Jack. The two of them fought about it on the night train. Any idea who that was, a last name, anything?

               ELSA  
     No. Sorry.

She turns her face towards the windows. It has started to rain. A soft, constant _patter_ against the glass...

EXT. BAKER STREET - NIGHT

A car drives by, splashes puddle water across the street. Raindrops hit the windowsills of 221B and the red awning of Speedy's Cafe...

INT. 221B BAKER STREET - CORRIDOR AT THE TOP OF THE STAIRS - NIGHT

Lestrade, just having ascended the stairs and on his way to the living room, bumps into John - who stops him, keeps his voice down -

               JOHN  
     You'll take her to the station, right? Maybe pick up the kids as well. I'm starting to get more than just a bit worried here -

Lestrade nods, pushes his palm of hand against the door to the living room. It _creaks_ open - Sherlock, lost in thought, and Elsa, deeply uncomfortable, are engaged in what may best be described as an entirely silent therapy session.

               LESTRADE  
     Please follow me, Mrs Owens.

She gets up. Hesitates for a second, gathers her courage. Wants to leave on a positive note...

               ELSA  
     I'm glad you're feeling better Mr Holmes.

Sherlock glances at her.

               SHERLOCK  
     Yes.

          (beat)  
     Goodbye.

Elsa wastes no time as she heads out.

John waltzes into the room, closes the door behind him. Finally, they're left alone.

He walks across the worn-out floorboards to join Sherlock...

               JOHN  
          (settling down)  
     Do you believe her?

Sherlock doesn't answer immediately, always a reason for concern -

               SHERLOCK  
     I haven't made my mind up yet. It's been a busy day.

He looks battered. Even by the dim light.

               JOHN  
     You alright?

               SHERLOCK  
     Feel a bit - dizzy.

He rests his face on his hands, tired. John reaches behind his back and throws the Union Jack cushion into Sherlock's lap. _Thud_. His curls move with the gust of air, the tiniest smile drifts across his face.

               JOHN  
          (after a pause)  
     Who was that then? These guys who tazered you?

Sherlock tries to think of an answer. A slow blink -

               SHERLOCK  
     We are most certainly dealing with a larger criminal gang.

          (beat)  
     It's hard to pinpoint.

John sighs, sinks into his armchair...

We watch them having a solemn moment by the fire, only hear the peaceful _crackle_...

EXT. BAKER STREET - LATER THAT NIGHT

John closes the front door behind him, and decends to the moonlit pavement. The rain has stopped, but the ground is glistening wet.

He walks away, pulls the zipper of his jacket up to his chin. Starts reminiscing about the events of the day, a weird look on his face. Then -

He stops. He squeezes the pocket of his jacket - having suddenly remembered - the bullet - how could he even forget - he turns round, looks up to the windows on the first floor, already heading back...

Yet another realization hits him as he reaches his hand for the front door. He's got no key!

He checks his watch. You know what -

Actually, he has no energy left for discussion tonight, there's too much on his mind already. Another glance towards the windows. Sherlock won't go anywhere. They'll continue in the morning -

He turns round, again, and walks away, down Baker Street, more resolutely this time.

We stay on the familiar row of buildings...

A steady change in lighting. Fastforward through the shades of blue of the night, the pavement dries up...

CUT TO:

The first hint of sunlight. Blissful, but deceitful serenity -

Sherlock, in his pyjamas and nightgown, barefooted, swings open the front door, a wide yawn on his face. And finds a pile of freshly printed newspapers outside, chuckles about the topmost front page.

He sits down on the doorstep - tailor's seat. Sorts the newpapers across his lap, one by one.

The pages' contents scroll up the building's wall beside him as if they were moving billboards. The news about the death of T. Owens, 30, on a night train from Penzance heading for London Paddington has inspired a number of headlines.

Lurid ones: "MURDER UPON ARRIVAL", "FATHER OF YOUNG FAMILY MURDERED IN COLD BLOOD". Anxious ones: "COMPARING TRAVEL RISKS", "HOW SAFE ARE OUR TRAINS". Neutral ones: "RELATIVES IN POLICE CUSTODY".

It's the usual compilation of a few serious articles and the inevitable sensational press that comes with every case grown public. Nothing that sticks out -

Done sorting, Sherlock carries the reverse pile to Speedy's next door, rather unceremoniously dumps the newspapers onto their doormat with a satisfying _thud_ \- and hops back inside 221 Baker Street, a bounce in his step.

CUT TO:

Various shots of London waking up, we end on:

EXT. BART'S HOSPITAL - DAY

A single aerial shot: Bart's.

Sherlock, the same bounce in his step, but fully dressed now, and John, getting out of a cab momentarily, join each other on their way into the building.

INT. BART'S HOSPITAL - MORGUE - DAY

               MOLLY  
          (brightly)  
     Hi.

The dismal room virtually lights up as she beams at her two friends. Then - she frowns.

               MOLLY  
          (to Sherlock)  
     What did you do?

               SHERLOCK  
     I - do - a lot of things, Molly.

               MOLLY  
          (strictly)  
     No - what happened to your face?

               SHERLOCK  
     Got ambushed.

               MOLLY  
     Okay -

               SHERLOCK  
     Yes, I am fine. No, I don't know who it was as of yet, to answer your next two questions.

               MOLLY  
     You don't have to be embarrassed.

               SHERLOCK  
     I assure you I am not.

               MOLLY  
     I'm your friend - I'm allowed to be concerned, I _should_ be concerned.

               SHERLOCK  
     I have a _scratch_ on my face!

          (beat)  
     Did I get lucky? Maybe. Does this conversation change anything that happened? No. So - if you don't mind, I'd rather not have it.

               JOHN  
     Wow.

               MOLLY  
     Just - be more careful.

               SHERLOCK  
     Yes, thank you for your concern, I'll try _not_ to die as best I can.

A big grin -

And he's back to his usual self.

               SHERLOCK  
     Speaking of demise - the dead man, now, please.

The three of them gather round Thomas Owens' slab. Fresh input regarding the case! Sherlock and John eagerly await to hear Molly's findings -

               MOLLY  
          (gesturing while explaining)  
     The killing shot was fired from a short distance. The bullet channel runs through his body on a downward slope, injuring the middle and upper lobe on the right side. It's not the cause of death however. Vascular injury, truncus pulmonalis -

               JOHN  
     Which is an artery near the heart. So it's blood loss...

               SHERLOCK  
     ...which gradually rendered the oxygen flow to the brain insufficient.

Molly nods.

               MOLLY  
     I'd say he had about a minute before falling unconscious.

               JOHN  
     Molly, ahm. You have preserved the bullet?

               MOLLY  
     Of course. What do you need?

               JOHN  
     Can you - bring it here? There's something I've got to show you. Both of you.

Sherlock frowns at John, who rummages within his jacket's pockets.

CUT TO:

A moment later. The three of them bend over a brightly illuminated lab bench. Two bullets, a few inches apart, are carefully placed onto the smooth, grey surface.

               SHERLOCK  
          (matter-of-factly)  
     Exhibit A: Bullet retrieved from Thomas Owens' body. Exhibit B: Bullet collected from the shattered windowframe of Room 206, Humberstead Hotel.

There's no need to check twice. John crosses his arms.

               JOHN  
     Now that's interesting.

               MOLLY  
     They're different -

               JOHN  
     No doubt. Couldn't ever be from the same gun. That's entirely different calibers.

               SHERLOCK  
          (solemnly)  
     And thus a beautiful hypothesis was slain by an ugly fact.

He unavailingly waits for someone to complete the quote -

               SHERLOCK  
     The great tragedy of science! And detective work.

A pause.

               SHERLOCK  
     Darwin's Bulldog, you must have at least heard of him -

               MOLLY  
     What?

               JOHN  
     Okay - you're quoting dogs, and the murder weapon can not be connected to our suspect. Are we stuck. I think we're stuck.

               SHERLOCK  
     He wasn't _actually_ a dog.

They all stare at the bullets.

               MOLLY  
          (confused)  
     I can call in ballistics.

               SHERLOCK  
     That'll be unneccessary. Molly - you're a forensic artist second to none...

She blushes a little bit -

               SHERLOCK  
     ...John's had rudimentary experience with the conduct of war...

On John's face. Excuse me, rudimentary what?!

               SHERLOCK  
     ...and I'm - erm, me.

               JOHN  
          (under his breath)  
     Ye-p.

               SHERLOCK  
     So ahm, what I'm saying is we'll do just fine identifying these ourselves. Let's get to work.

INT. BART'S HOSPITAL - ANALYTIC LABORATORY - DAY

John moves one of the bullets beneath a state-of-the-art microscope with a pair of plastic tweezers, carefully adjusts the focal length.

Molly, nervous at first, doesn't take her eyes off the instrument - but there's nothing to worry about and she relaxes. John doesn't need very long either...

               JOHN  
     This is Wadcutter ammunition. It's commonly used in sport shooting. Made from lead, usually 8.8 millimetres.

CUT TO:

John's POV - a view through the microscope.

               JOHN  
          (V.O.)  
     As far as I can see, fired from a weapon with right hand twist, five lands and grooves.

He moves away, hands the tweezers to Sherlock as they swap places.

               SHERLOCK  
          (at home at the microscope, sort of talks into it)  
     The .38 Special comes to mind.

               JOHN  
          (thinking aloud)  
     A revolver would fit the fact there wasn't any bullet casing in his compartment.

Sherlock swirls round on the microscope's stool, gets up.

               SHERLOCK  
          (to Molly)  
     Your turn -

He points to the second bullet with the pair of plastic tweezers. She takes them.

CUT TO:

Another view through the microscope. The bullets are exchanged, the second bullet is moved into focus.

               MOLLY  
          (V.O.)  
     I think I recognize this one. It's specially made. Designed just for a single weapon. The 9 mm Makarov.

 _Bip_. Molly turns round from the microscope at the sound -

CUT TO:

Sherlock's phone, in his hand, displaying a specific type of handgun.

               SHERLOCK  
     Excellent. The Radon P83 9 mm Makarov. To be exact.

               JOHN  
     That makes two guns that couldn't be more different. So the woman from the hotel - Elaine Willingham - actually _didn't_ kill Mr Owens?

               MOLLY  
     What if she used both?

Sherlock frowns. Molly notices -

               MOLLY  
     Switched the gun, I mean.

          (beat)  
     Sorry. I thought -

               SHERLOCK  
     Molly Hooper. Not only is that utterly possible - it's not a half bad theory.

          (beat)  
     Considering she probably had quite a lot to choose from.

He stares at the display of his phone -

               SHERLOCK  
     The 9 mm Makarov - a household name. But. The _Radon P83_ make... that's not a model you'd find on British streets.

          (his eyes narrow)  
     At least not until recently.

               JOHN  
     Ohh. So you think -?

               SHERLOCK  
     ...that's what they were bringing in, this right here -

He holds up the larger bullet inbetween two fingers -

               SHERLOCK  
     is what they're smuggling...

Pause.

On John. Emanates the grave aura of the former army doctor.

               JOHN  
          (bitter)  
     Weapons.

INT. BART'S HOSPITAL - CORRIDOR - DAY

Sherlock and John walk towards the exit.

               JOHN  
     So, Mr Owens was involved with an arms trafficking group - the same one that Miss Willingham is a part of.

               SHERLOCK  
     Yes.

               JOHN  
     They were on the same train, and they _fought_ , she ran away, he's dead - but we _still_ can't prove or disprove if she killed him?? That's _crazy_.

Indeed. And the reason that -

               SHERLOCK  
     There's _something_ else - there has to be, a connecting element I'm - missing!

               JOHN  
     What's the plan - double check the files of any of the other passengers for more suspects, any point in that?

               SHERLOCK  
     Potentially.

He ties his scarf.

               SHERLOCK  
     Let's go.

               JOHN  
          (as they head outside)  
     Where?

               SHERLOCK  
          (skipping down steps)  
     Lestrade's office at Scotland Yard. I need to dig through their database.

John squints his eyes in the sunlight. Follows Sherlock onto the pavement, who throws his arm into the air -

               SHERLOCK  
     Taxi -!

INT. SCOTLAND YARD - LESTRADE'S OFFICE - DAY

Lestrade lounges behind his desk laden with case files. Judging by the dark circles under his eyes - he's pulled an allnighter at the station.

               LESTRADE  
     This is rare.

               SHERLOCK  
     What?

               LESTRADE  
          (pointing with a pen)  
     You - coming to me. Why?

               SHERLOCK  
     WiFi at Bart's is sluggish, it'd have taken ages to build a remote connection.

               LESTRADE  
     Aha.

          (beat)  
     Listen, I've been over old case files of murdered Jacks within the London and Penzance areas in the last five years. I doubt the case you're interested in lies any further in the past. Strange thing is, as many murders as there were of people called Jack, there was no _unsolved_ ones.

               SHERLOCK  
     Find out which one you got wrong then.

               LESTRADE  
     What?

               SHERLOCK  
     Find out _which one_ you got wrong.

On Lestrade - in disbelief.

               LESTRADE  
      _Assuming_ we got the wrong murderer in one of these cases - they're not just mine. How am I supposed to do that! We don't have a surname, or age! Besides, what if - Jack - has never been identified.

He lets his hands drop onto the desk top...

               JOHN  
     Yeah, that's one hell of a dead end.

               SHERLOCK  
     Hm. Admittedly, yes.

Lestrade sighs and gets up.

               LESTRADE  
     I also got the lab results on Mr Owens' phone. Gotta warn you, they're equally disappointing.

He walks round his desk, points towards a whiteboard on the wall plastered with analytic data and pictures of enlarged fingerprints.

               LESTRADE  
     No prints. Neither on the plastic case nor the display, or the shards we got - except his own, that is. She's been tidy.

          (beat)  
     You've talked to Molly yet?

Sherlock moves behind Lestrade's computer. _Click_. _Click click click_.

               JOHN  
          (continuing his conversation with Lestrade)  
     Yeah. We identified the types of guns.

               LESTRADE  
     Types - plural?

               JOHN  
     Uh-huh. We're back at square one.

               LESTRADE  
     Brilliant.

On Sherlock's hands. His fingers fly across a mechanical keyboard.

CUT TO:

The screen. A "SEARCH" text field. "ELAINE WILLINGHAM" spells out inside it. A second of consideration. Sherlock hits ENTER.

A name register pops up. Elaine is on the list. _Tiptiptiptiptiptiptip_ \- ENTER again.

__

A message pops up on the screen.

**** ACCESS DENIED ****

               SHERLOCK  
     Why did you change your password?

               LESTRADE  
     Ah, what are you on about, by the way?? What password?

               SHERLOCK  
     Your password. Your main one you use for everything -

The look of guilt on Lestrade's face is quite telling. Exposed. He joins Sherlock at the PC, bends over the keyboard and enters his password. _Tiptiptiptiptiptiptip_. _Click_.

**** ACCESS DENIED ****

It doesn't work.

               LESTRADE  
          (mouthing the word)  
     What??

John moves behind the desk now, too.

               LESTRADE  
          (towards Sherlock)  
     What did you do?

               SHERLOCK  
     I _couldn't_ do anything here. That's the problem.

Lestrade grabs the edge of his desk with both his hands, leans over resting his upper body on his arms.

               LESTRADE  
     Yeah, but _I_ didn't change my password to that database.

_Rrring... rrring..._

__

It's the desk phone. Lestrade frowns at it, proceeds with caution.

Hesitantly picks up the receiver on a cord and listens in...

               TELEPHONE VOICE  
     I'll be direct. Access to information on certain individuals has been restricted until further notice. The investigation -

Lestrade presses the speaker phone button.

               TELEPHONE VOICE  
     - will be handled by the British Home Office from this point. Thank you for your cooperation.

What?

               LESTRADE  
     Excuse me, who is that? This is an internal number.

               TELEPHONE VOICE  
     Detective Inspector, I'm afraid the anonymity is by design. Good morning.

 _Beeep_. The call has ended.

Lestrade puts the receiver back down. _Click_. His lips thin with displeasure.

Sherlock's body stiffens with confined rage. It takes effort - to stay focussed. Right then.

EXT. MI5 BUILDING - DAY

Flags flutter in the wind against the sky, _clink_ against aluminium poles.

The woman oftentimes going by the name of ANTHEA waits, arms crossed, in the courtyard in front of the massive structure. She pulls her phone from her pocket and checks it. As she looks back up, she spots...

Sherlock and John, striding directly towards her.

Anthea eyes them as they approach, defying the strong breeze. She folds her hands in front of her, then wordlessly turns round and leads the way into the building.

INT. MI5 BUILDING - MYCROFT'S OFFICE - DAY

_Whack whack whack whack_.

MYCROFT HOLMES flinches in his chair, and immediately relaxes again. God, what's the _door_ done to you. No mistake who that must be.

               MYCROFT  
     Please _do_ come in.

Sherlock bursts inside, and gets right up in Mycroft's face.

               SHERLOCK  
     Dieu et mon droit.

Mycroft rolls his eyes.

John walks in, a lot more controlled.

               MYCROFT  
     It seems we've hit a bit of a problem.

Sherlock narrows his eyes at him, then turns on his heel and starts pacing round the office.

               SHERLOCK  
     So it was you.

               MYCROFT  
     You'll have to exemplify.

          (beat)  
     The call? Of course it was, well, I say me.

               SHERLOCK  
     That's not what I'm referring to.

               JOHN  
          (frowning)  
     You're not. What -??

Mycroft sighs.

               SHERLOCK  
     Oh just apologize.

               MYCROFT  
     Me? Not to put too fine a point on it, but _you_ were the one about to get shot.

               SHERLOCK  
     Please. I would have caught her.

On Mycroft's face. Sherlock we both know you wouldn't have.

               JOHN  
     You - _you_ tazered him!!

               MYCROFT  
     I gave the order, yes. You're welcome.

               SHERLOCK  
     And what was that for?

               MYCROFT  
     I told you, you would have been shot. Right there, right then.

               JOHN  
     No, that's not it. You - tazered - your brother. By all means, that's a bit violent for a rescue.

               SHERLOCK  
     You needed to incapacitate me.

Mycroft exhales, slowly.

               MYCROFT  
     You wouldn't stop meddling around. Elaine Willingham's case is of major importance to the MI5.

               SHERLOCK  
     Yes, clearly - since - noone else is even allowed looking into her file.

          (mockingly)  
     Mmmhh. Exclusive.

               JOHN  
     Mycroft, she's the prime suspect of the Thomas Owens murder case.

Mycroft tilts his head to the side, his eyes wander from Sherlock to John, and back.

               MYCROFT  
          (coldly)  
     Am I spoiling the fun? You're ever so impatient.

               JOHN  
          (demanding)  
     No, I'll tell you what you're doing. You are protecting this - killer - from their rightful punishment and putting a whole family in danger. By letting her roam free as she pleases.

Mycroft leans back in his chair.

               MYCROFT  
     John, I wholeheartedly approve of your desire to bring justice to those who earned it. Yet - there's nothing I can do for you, except advise you - to stay away from Miss Willingham.

Oh is that so. John turns to Sherlock - you just heard that?!

But all of Sherlock's attention is directed at Mycroft -

\- and the penny drops.

               SHERLOCK  
     You know where she is.

               MYCROFT  
          (smug)  
     We monitor her whereabouts, yes.

Hmh. Thought so.

               SHERLOCK  
     But the MI5 have no intention whatsoever to capture her.

               MYCROFT  
     Not currently.

          (beat)  
     There's a time and place for everything.

Sherlock raises an eyebrow -

               SHERLOCK  
     Obviously.

Grimly presses together his lips. Touché.

And that marks the end of the Holmes brothers' cryptic exchange apparently - John's more than just a little lost.

Sherlock throws a meaningful look in Mycroft's direction, starts walking backwards - salutes with two fingers...

...then swirls round and struts out of the room.

               MYCROFT  
          (smiling)  
     So long.

          (a polite nod)  
     John.

John folds his arms behind his back, stiffly returns the nod...

               JOHN  
     Mycroft.

...and follows Sherlock out of the office.

Mycroft watches him leave. Takes a deep breath. Puts the tips of his fingers together, rests his chin on top, lost in thought. Remains in the same position even after John's out the door.

CUT TO:

Outside. A panorama of Central London's cityscape. Millbank Tower, Thames House, Lambeth Bridge, Vauxhall Bridge - grand landmarks along the river...


	6. Disentanglements

EXT. BAKER STREET - DAY

Establisher. Pleasantly clear skies.

INT. 221B BAKER STREET - LIVING ROOM - DAY

In natural light. John enters from the kitchen carrying a decanter, pours himself a glass of water. Sherlock unbuttons his shirt's cuffs and collar - they've just arrived home from their trip.

               JOHN  
      Mycroft.

               SHERLOCK  
      Yes.

               JOHN  
      Your brother.

               SHERLOCK  
      Regretfully so yes.

John puts the decanter on the table -

               JOHN  
      Tazers you, blocks police files, actively withholds information in an ongoing murder investigation. Brilliant. Just fantastic. Here's a question - why? What's he trying to get at?

He takes a sip from the glass -

               SHERLOCK  
      In a word - smugglers.

John stares at him, then swallows his mouth full of water.

               JOHN  
      Smugglers.

Sherlock rolls up his sleeves.

               SHERLOCK  
      Mycroft doesn't care about a petty little murder case, John. Neither do the British Secret Service.

               JOHN  
      Excuse me, if they're not interested, why aren't we allowed to arrest Elaine Willingham, the suspected killer _of said case_?

               SHERLOCK  
      Don't you see. To us she's a suspect, but to _them_ \- she's a lead - of incredible value. A lead to bigger fish in an ocean of criminal activity.

               JOHN  
      Ohh. So they track her to get to the higherups in an arms trafficking ring.

               SHERLOCK  
      Presumably. Which in turn means for us - until the right moment comes to capture the whole lot of them at once - we'll have to leave her be.

               JOHN  
      You mean Mycroft will continue to go out of his way to ensure that.

He takes another sip of water...

               JOHN  
      I still can't believe he tazered you.

               SHERLOCK  
      It was indeed a rather blunt choice of method of keeping me at bay.

A pause. John puts his glass down on the table.

               JOHN  
      Really. That's it, that's all you gotta say?

               SHERLOCK  
      About what?

               JOHN  
      Mycroft! For heaven's sakes, you're being weird, even by your standards. How - are you not mad.

               SHERLOCK  
      What's the point.

Wha-?

               JOHN  
      The point?!

               SHERLOCK  
      John... I had an intervention coming.

          (beat)  
     And for what it's worth, I can't say if I was or wasn't actually in _need_ of one in that alley last night.

On John's face - stumped. Oh my God.

               JOHN  
      He didn't just stun you, he _saved_ you -

Sherlock puts his hands into the pockets of his trousers, wrinkles his nose.

               SHERLOCK  
      I was taking risks. He eliminated them.

John shakes his head.

               JOHN  
          (drawn-out)  
     Geez.

               SHERLOCK  
      Along with any chance of me getting a hold of Elaine Willingham. Which was of course his primary objective, like I said.

          (beat)  
     Mycroft doesn't go round rescuing people from danger. He puts them into it.

No, Sherlock -

               JOHN  
      You put _yourself_ into it!

Goodness. Finally the very realization seems to sink in.

Manifests within the sharp blue eyes...

Whatever, fine! Sherlock desperately wrings both of his hands, his whole body shakes -

               SHERLOCK  
          (unusually loud)  
     Yes!

          (equally loud)  
     And I'm sorry!

There. Just as quickly as it came to be, his outburst passes.

John is rooted to the spot - thunderstruck.

There's a profound silence. Neither of them move as much as an inch. Particles of dust dance in the sunlight falling through the windows, past the curtains and the mantelpiece...

               SHERLOCK  
      I made a mistake. I let you down and I am sorry. John.

The words hang in the air. Delicate, fragile, _so_ not like Sherlock. Amazing, in a way...

John finally moves.

               JOHN  
      I wanted to punch Mycroft in the face, you know.

Sherlock eyes him, carefully - you really did, didn't you.

               SHERLOCK  
      Ah.

          (offhand)  
     I'm sure plenty of opportunities will present themselves in the future.

John involuntarily lets out a bemused chuckle.

               JOHN  
      Mh.

               SHERLOCK  
      There's a time and place for everything.

A meaningful glance...

Idiot.

               SHERLOCK  
          (defensively)  
      _His_ words, not mine.

INT. 221B BAKER STREET - KITCHEN - EVENING

John enters the flat carrying a bag with takeaway sandwiches from Speedy's Cafe (dinner). Expects Sherlock on the sofa in the living room but he's at... John throws a look round the corner... the kitchen table - there's a weird, detached look on his face.

               SHERLOCK  
      What's wrong with me, John?

Okay - we're having a crisis on our hands... John sighs, walks over to him, puts the sandwiches on the kitchen counter.

               JOHN  
      What is it?

               SHERLOCK  
      The more we've been digging into this case, the less sense it all makes - this shouldn't be happening -

               JOHN  
      ...I guess.

               SHERLOCK  
      There's too much - CLUTTER. Why can't I see what's actually important.

          (beat)  
     Why was the phone broken? I don't know. Who was Jack? I don't know -

On Sherlock's face - helplessly staring at John -

               SHERLOCK  
      I've distilled my thoughts into one theory. One, and I can't get it out of my head.

          (beat)  
     It starts with the MI5. They pick up on a pattern - guns entering the country via Penzance Port. Problem is - they don't figure out who's behind it. So they settle for another option. Mass redundancies, neatly covered up as restructuring measure by the municipal government - puts the flow of weapons on hold. Now - our smugglers have a problem, namely - Thomas Owens, the dockworker. An insider to their business.

On John - listening - all seems sound so far?

               SHERLOCK  
      If the Owens' letterbox is telling the truth, they've had massive monetary shortages since Mr Owens' suspension. Perhaps he tried to backmail his ex-gang. All he had to do was wait for the right moment during one of their operations. I figured the night train's got to be one of their trade routes.

               JOHN  
      Thomas Owens was silenced! By his former smuggling partner.

          (beat)  
     Oh, that's good, isn't it, brilliant - why are you upset??

               SHERLOCK  
      So it's having the same effect on your brain as well.

          (beat)  
     The great danger of an almost perfect theory - we're tempted by an apparent solution within our grasp, cherish an idea for the sake of convenience, even if it _can't_ be true. So much so we forget to think of anything else.

               JOHN  
      What's the matter, why not? Elaine is - the _ideal murderer_ , it all fits.

               SHERLOCK  
      She undoubtedly has consistent motive.

               JOHN  
      Okay, you need to help me out. What's the problem? Because I don't see it.

               SHERLOCK  
      We mustn't ignore the rather strange fact that the wife of the deceased - has provided Miss Willingham with - a _perfect alibi_.

 _Creak. Creak_. Sherlock paces up and down the living room.

CUT TO:

Sherlock's POV. Pan over... the windows... the client chair...

               SHERLOCK/ELSA  
          (Elsa in V.O.)  
     She showed up on my doorstep this morning. Shouted Tom had made a fool out of her - and she would wait for him - in my living room.

...her voice echoes in his head.

 _Flash_. The Owens' living room - Elaine and Elsa arguing. _Flash_. A footprint on chequered fabric. _Flash_.

               SHERLOCK  
      She was telling the truth. Implying...

          (beat)  
     ...our best suspect - slash, the supposed killer - _somehow had no idea what had happened to the victim_?!

On John. Has the face of a man watching a house of cards tumbling down. What -

               SHERLOCK  
          (grim)  
     That's impossible in my book.

INT. 221B BAKER STREET - LIVING ROOM - NIGHT

Sherlock faces the mirror above the mantelpiece, pensively stares into the reversed room. A parallel world, from which his mirrored self gazes back at him...

               SHERLOCK  
          (talking to noone in particular)  
     It's ridiculous - the pieces don't come together, they're drifting apart.

          (beat)  
     Nothing but useless contradictions.

It's as if he was hoping to find answers on the other side.

               SHERLOCK  
          (frustrated)  
     The accursed thing will never get solved.

His eyes dart to the left as he registers minimal movement across his shoulder. Shift of focus - on John behind him. Who's been there the entire time.

               JOHN  
          (unimpressed)  
     Are you done monologuing through your prima donna episode.

Sherlock turns round - affronted.

               SHERLOCK  
      There's nothing I can work with!

That's not true -

               JOHN  
      We still got the train, for all I know it's not been moved.

Sherlock walks over to his chair and lets himself drop into it.

               SHERLOCK  
      And what do you suggest?

               JOHN  
      We're missing the connection - the train's the link, the common denominator... we inspect _the train_.

And, that's it -?

               SHERLOCK  
      We already did that.

               JOHN  
      Sometimes it's best to start over. We go back, have a fresh look at the crime scene.

          (beat)  
     Besides, some things just need a practical approach. Up, up.

He shoos Sherlock away from his spot. Who frowns back at him in surprise, then rises from his chair -

Oh come on, don't just stand there - move! John pushes into Sherlock's back, and without further ado shoves him all the way towards the door to the corridor...

               SHERLOCK  
          (protesting)  
     Hhee-hey! I need my coat.

EXT. BAKER STREET - NIGHT

Sherlock and John step outside, both of them full of renewed vigour. Plans!

               SHERLOCK  
      Let's go to Bart's first.

               JOHN  
      Alright?

A taxi pulls up.

               SHERLOCK  
          (getting on)  
     We might as well roleplay it, so we're going to need the right props.

Sorry what was that?

               JOHN  
          (following Sherlock)  
     We roleplay - a murder?

CUT TO:

A long shot. Baker Street. _Wumpth_ \- a car's door falls shut, the taxi drives away...

INT. BART'S HOSPITAL - UPSTAIRS CORRIDOR - NIGHT

All of the lights are off - the scientific staff have gone home. Two silhouettes sneak towards a door.

John keeps a lookout, Sherlock enters a series of digits into a pin code lock.

An affirmative _beepbeep_ , a LED lights up green - and the lock _clicks_ open...

INT. BART'S HOSPITAL - DARK STORAGE ROOM - NIGHT

We see a huge drawer being opened. There's compartments full of evidence bags with miscellaneous contents.

               SHERLOCK  
          (in a hushed tone)  
     Ooooh.

This is fun -

               SHERLOCK  
      Martini-heavy extramarital affair. Inheritance battle. Patent lawsuit gone of out control.

On to the next drawer. Bags and more bags.

               SHERLOCK  
      Nasty case of calenture. Fatal earthenware.

The next drawer, the next collection - a large transparent envelope stands out, containing a mid-sized sports bag...

 _Flash_. Mr Owens enters his compartment carrying his luggage, places the bag beneath the window. _Flash_. And he's dead on the bunk bed. _Flash_. Back to Sherlock at the drawer.

               SHERLOCK  
      Ah.

He pulls out the plastic envelope, frowns at the contents...

EXT. OLD OAK COMMON TMD - NIGHT

Rows of emtpy waggons, overhead contact lines, yellow-orange lamps and power poles beneath a canopy of stars. A soft _clackety-clackety_ noise can be heard in the distance.

 _Metal wire rattling_. John wiggles through a hole in a chain-link fence separating heavy waggons from passenger trains. Sherlock, already on the other side, carries Mr Owens' sports bag, jam-packed with what seems to be the rest of the evidence wrapped in plastic envelopes.

               JOHN  
      Thank God for that, I wasn't in the mood to climb over there!

               SHERLOCK  
      By courtesy of London's finest graffitists.

John is about to walk to the left - but Sherlock grabs his arm.

               JOHN  
      Isn't it behind that one?

He points towards the train in front of them.

               SHERLOCK  
      Yes.

          (nods to the side)  
     Security camera.

               JOHN  
      Okay.

Sherlock pulls him to the right.

CUT TO:

Striped police tape fluttering in a cold breeze, surrounding the Penzance night train parked on the rails - an eerie sight. Sherlock and John walk up to the barrier, but then -

Sherlock stops, hesitant to cross. Has his eyes fixed on the carriage towering in front of him, labelled No 7. His mind races...

               JOHN  
          (nervously)  
     What is it?

               SHERLOCK  
          (slowly)  
     The location. Isn't it just odd.

Oh-kay, that was an unneccessary rush of adrenaline -

               JOHN  
      What do you mean?

               SHERLOCK  
      Trains make horrible spots for a good murder.

          (beat)  
     Think about it. The killer has to operate within a confined space and time span. No proper escape route. Plus they're among suspects presented to the police on a silver platter.

               JOHN  
      I guess there's a reason there's novels about this stuff.

               SHERLOCK  
      You see my point?

He holds up the striped band. John crouches beneath it to get to the other side.

               JOHN  
      Yeah - it's strange - why not wait until you're on the platform at least, a dodgy alleyway. No murderer in their right mind, if that's even a thing, would choose a train.

               SHERLOCK  
          (following)  
     Precisely. Leads me to think whoever is responsible for Mr Owens' death - they didn't _get_ to choose.

They walk up to the carriage, straight towards the unhinged door.

               SHERLOCK  
      He _had_ to die on this particular train, exactly where he did.

          (a fascinated pause)  
     ...why.

INT. MR OWENS' COMPARTMENT - NIGHT

The room is illuminated only by moonlight. Mr Owens' body is gone, the lower bunk bed's matress has been removed - there's just an empty bedframe.

The compartment door opens, Sherlock and John walk in, casting shadows onto the floor and walls. Sherlock lets the sports bag full of evidence drop into its spot beneath the window...

CUT TO:

Moments later. They are in the process of moving the matress from the upper bunk bed to the lower one -

               SHERLOCK  
      I'll be Thomas Owens.

_Thud_. The matress slumps into place. John presses it down to fit it into the bedframe, tucks in the bedsheets. 

               JOHN  
      Alright, I'm the murderer.

               SHERLOCK  
          (taking off his coat)  
     Brilliant. Let's begin.

He throws it onto the coathanger.

               SHERLOCK  
      We'll start with the facts. 5:00 am. The Train Guard, Mr Hemsey, emerges to wake up Thomas Owens.

Okay. John, on cue, walks out onto the corridor.

               JOHN  
          (playing the Train Guard)  
     Knock knock, waking call.

And he opens the door.

               JOHN  
          (in character)  
     Good morning. Would you like anything?

               SHERLOCK  
          (playing Mr Owens)  
     Hello. A cup of coffee, please.

               JOHN  
          (in character)  
     Sure.

This is silly - John goes back to being himself.

               JOHN  
          (gesturing)  
     Yada yada yada, the Train Guard leaves.

               SHERLOCK  
      We've got seven minutes until he dials 999 for emergency.

               JOHN  
      So about six and a half during which the murderer enters the compartment. You want me to go outside again.

               SHERLOCK  
      No.

               JOHN  
      Okay. Mr Owens' body showed no other injuries apart from the shot wound. So I guess I'll shoot you rightaway -

What they're doing, it's stupid, isn't it. John forms a gun with his hands, puts them onto Sherlock's chest. Yes, definitely, _very_ stupid -

               JOHN  
          (firing the imaginary weapon)  
     Bang!

Sherlock doesn't move an inch. It's a little disappointing.

               SHERLOCK  
      Consider the way the bullet channel runs through his chest.

Agreed - John aims a little lower.

               JOHN  
          (shouting)  
     Bang!

And Sherlock lets himself drop. Dramatically hits the floor, then tries to keep still in the exact position he landed in - only blinks at the compartment's ceiling...

               SHERLOCK  
          (muttering in thought)  
     The Train Guard found Mr Owens on the bed.

               JOHN  
      You mean the murderer dragged him up there?

Sherlock turns his head.

               SHERLOCK  
      It's a possibility.

          (realizing)  
     Oh! You don't need to do that.

He wants to sit up, but John stops him, pushes him back down -

               JOHN  
      Are we going to do this properly or not?

               SHERLOCK  
      You don't need to -

          (he pulls on his shirt)  
     I haven't showered. I've been working all night yesterday.

               JOHN  
      I'm sure it's fine. Besides, what's that got to do with anything.

John leans forward and gives the shirt a _sniff_.

               JOHN  
          (half accusingly)  
     Have you been smoking?

On Sherlock's face. There's no point in denying it now.

               JOHN  
      Okay, time to go to bed.

He starts dragging Sherlock across the floor.

               SHERLOCK  
      John.

          (beat)  
     JOHN.

Would you stop that!

CUT TO:

Later. Both sit on their haunches. Sherlock leans against the lower bunk bed, John against the wall opposite.

               JOHN  
      That's not how it happened, is it.

Sherlock raises an eyebrow.

               SHERLOCK  
      No.

CUT TO:

Later again. They both study pieces of evidence lined up on the floor. Train tickets in plastic envelopes, the railcard brochure, the leather portmonnaie, a stack of photos of the crime scene taken by Scotland Yard...

CUT TO:

The next scenario. John pretends to nap on the lower bunk bed. Sherlock tiptoes towards him, as stealthily as he can manage.

               JOHN  
      Hhhhh. Nope. I'd have heard you.

CUT TO:

Further down the line. Sherlock turns on his heel, points into different corners of the compartment. John, taking a break, sits on the lower bunk bed and watches him.

               SHERLOCK  
          (theorizing)  
     Either there... or there.

CUT TO:

Sherlock's face - we zoom away - he lies on the lower bunk bed. John, determined, holds his feet by the ankles.

               JOHN  
      Like this. Yeah?

He shifts them a notch.

CUT TO:

Bird's view. John is on the floor, positioned like the dead Mr Owens. His eyes follow Sherlock, dashing about, arranging packaged evidence around him.

The broken mobile phone in a plastic bag - Sherlock picks it up, weighs it in one hand, feels for a dent in the PVC floor with two fingers of the other.

               SHERLOCK  
      That's where it was smashed. It must have slid under the bed when the emergency brake was applied.

Theories, theories, theories.

CUT TO:

Later...

They both sit on the lower bunk bed, in silence - each of them lost in their own thoughts.

Sherlock holds the stack of photos, lets them rapidly turn from one to the next with his thumb, doesn't look at them though.

_Frrrt. Frrrt._

The time. The place. The case. Everything is strange, and yet - this is how it's supposed to be.

He absentmindedly stares at the shelf below the window -

\- and something just clicks! His eyes light up! Oh, _finally_ , that's _it_ , that _must_ be it!

 _Frrrrrrrrrt_. The pictures rain onto the floor. Some flip over, some slide into corners...

A swift glance towards John - who appears to be mildly startled.

               SHERLOCK  
      One last try.

               JOHN  
      Okay.

          (beat)  
     The final one - really?

               SHERLOCK  
      Promise.

Alright then.

               JOHN  
      Who's who?

               SHERLOCK  
      You're the victim, I'm the murderer.

They get up at the same time. Assume their positions within the compartment - Sherlock by the door, John by the window...

A short moment of consideration.

Then, a sharp exhale from Sherlock - and he full on charges at John!

Who wasn't ready for _that_! Feels himself forcefully being turned round to face the window, while Sherlock's arms close round his stomach...

He remembers he's playing Mr Owens' part and tries to struggle free! Shit - where does that strength even come from -

               JOHN  
          (gasping for air)  
     Okay, you can stop now - or I'll have to resort to more effective methods!

Got some in mind alrea -! The tight grip loosens immediately.

Thank you, wonderful, that worked!

But Sherlock doesn't let go just yet. Keeps his arms wrapped round John's middle - every fiber of his being as alive as never before.

John senses his constant breaths against his neck, feels the warmth of his body against his own...

A thousand thoughts chase through his head...

               JOHN  
          (as calmly as he can)  
     Interesting. Why like this?

Silence -

Say something.

               SHERLOCK  
      There are sprinkles of blood on the windowsill. And no through and through bullet wound. If the victim hadn't faced the window, there's no way blood could have splattered onto the shelf in front of it. I need to shoot you in such a way the blood ends up there.

Sherlock moves one of his hands below John's chest heaving up and down, forms a gun with it -

               SHERLOCK  
          (poetically)  
     Poof.

On the darkened, fine red lines and dots, like violent brushstrokes, across the wooden shelf in front of the two of them...

John frowns, lifts his hands to turn round Sherlock's, then places them back.

               JOHN  
      That's a really weird technique to shoot someone.

Nothing, then -

Sherlock sighs from behind his ear.

               SHERLOCK  
      I agree.

               JOHN  
      Okay.

Moonlight. A pause. Neither of them move. Sherlock's eyes wander across the window.

               SHERLOCK  
      But since it's the only possibility how a murder _could_ have taken place -

               JOHN  
      Right?

               SHERLOCK  
      I deemed a demonstration worthwhile.

Mh. Suspicion dawns on John's face.

               JOHN  
      I get the feeling it's _not_ what happened, is it.

               SHERLOCK  
      No.

          (beat)  
     Not in the slightest, actually.

 _What_? Are you saying you -

John feels a shiver run down his spine...

               JOHN  
          (slowly)  
     You solved the case.

A magical pause.

               SHERLOCK  
      Couldn't have done it without you.

And with that, he gently lets go of John - who continues to gaze out of the window.

Amazed in many ways...

Sherlock folds his hands behind his back.

               SHERLOCK  
      Do you remember what I said earlier? About the night train.

Yeah?

               JOHN  
      It's a horribly inconvenient spot for a quiet murder.

               SHERLOCK  
          (bittersweetly)  
     Perfectly reasonable.

What? John turns round, baffled -

               JOHN  
      How does that make sense?

               SHERLOCK  
      It never needed to be one. Quite the opposite.

A _clackety-clackety_ noise grows louder and louder - the past beginning to seep into the present...

WHIP PAN TO:

The other side of the window, the outsides of the train. It's still dark, but we are _moving_ , fast, through a familiar landscape of ash trees and high grass. There's someone in the window, but it isn't Sherlock, or John. It's Thomas Owens, who has taken their place in the compartment, looking into the night...

INT. SLEEPING CAR NO 15 - COMPARTMENT NO 8 - 46 HOURS AGO

_Knock, knock, knock_. 

Mr Owens walks over to the door to open it just a tiny bit.

               TRAIN GUARD  
      Good morning, Sir. This is your wake-up service.

          (beat)  
     Ah, you're dressed already, very well.

We're back at the beginning. In the same scene - exactly as it was, only on the other side - in the compartment with Mr Owens...

               MR OWENS  
      Morning. Yeah. Everything's good, thank you.

               TRAIN GUARD  
      Anything for breakfast?

               MR OWENS  
      Ahm. Yes, please. I'd like a coffee.

               TRAIN GUARD  
      Of course. Do you take milk or sugar?

Thomas Owens glances down the corridor - but noone's there, nothing to worry about...

               MR OWENS  
      Milk, please.

               TRAIN GUARD  
      I'll be back in just a moment.

               MR OWENS  
      Oh no, take your time. Thank you.

Then he shuts the door.

               SHERLOCK  
          (V.O.)  
     He was awake. Obviously, he had been planning out this thing for ages. First, he empties the contents of his bag onto the floor.

The friendly smile from just seconds ago fades from Mr Owens' face. He hastily takes his personal items out of the sports bag, throws them on the compartment floor. Checks how it looks -

               SHERLOCK  
          (V.O.)  
     His phone. He destroys it himself.

Its edge leaves a small dent in the floor. It's not enough.

The expression on Mr Owens' face changes - something has been unleashed from within, a ferocity that doesn't suit him. He picks up his phone again, turns it in his hand, then smashes it on the floor. _Clash_ \- glittering shards of glass fly through the air...

He is distant, in every sense of the word, lonely, estranged from reality - trapped in the compartment in another time. Reaches for the top of the window...

WHIP PAN TO:

The outsides of the train, to a quiet standstill on the train depot, back to the present - the compartment window is pulled down - to reveal Sherlock and John.

               SHERLOCK  
      No way back now.

He slowly lifts an imagined revolver, closes his eyes -

WHIP PAN TO:

The insides of the train.

 _Rattle rattle rattle_. We see Mr Owens again, who struggles to keep standing in the blast of air coming through the window. Shudders. Holds a small revolver against his chest. _Rattle rattle rattle_...

The noise numbs down, then -

 _Bang_!

Paralyzing silence.

               MOLLY  
          (V.O.)  
     The killing shot was fired from a short distance. Vascular injury, truncus pulmonalis - I'd say he had about a minute before falling unconscious.

Rapid _ticking_ , stopwatch-like. _Tick-tick-tick-tick-tick_ \- it mercilessly swells back to the train's _rattle rattle rattle_...

Mr Owens, wide-eyed, operated by instinct, lets the weapon drop out of the window, pushes it close - knees buckling already. Rattling breaths. Blood. He clutches his chest burning with pain, crawls onto the lower bunk bed...


	7. Gun Residue

INT. MR OWENS' COMPARTMENT

               JOHN  
          (astonished)  
     I'm... I... There was no murderer? He staged his suicide as murder?

               SHERLOCK  
      Masterfully so. Deceiving people - including his own family - was his area of expertise.

But -

               JOHN  
      What about Elaine, why'd she jump out of the train and run away?

               SHERLOCK  
      She was in the middle of her operation carrying loads of Polish guns, of course she would run. Couldn't even risk a routine identity check. She had no idea what _actually happened_ , but she had to act quickly.

               JOHN  
      What a huge coincidence though, don't you think - Tom kills himself with this incredibly elaborate scheme, and his former criminal partner just happens to be on the same train...

               SHERLOCK  
      I don't think it was accidental. Tom's plan was set, once he had stepped onto the night train. Elaine was about to meet her fate with the same certainty that he would meet his.

               JOHN  
      In his mind, she'd be stuck on the night train and walk right into the arms of the police - who'd be looking for his murderer?

               SHERLOCK  
      All Mr Owens had to do was make her into a suspect. Easy. Like I said, she was already carrying smuggled guns.

          (beat)  
     He chose to pick a fight in the on-board restaurant, and make it seen, to be absolutely sure.

On John - realizing something else now.

               JOHN  
      ..."Jack" may never have existed in the first place -

Back to Sherlock.

               SHERLOCK  
          (fascinated)  
     Mr Owens planned faking his own murder and framing Miss Willingham for it.

               JOHN  
      That's got to be a first.

               SHERLOCK  
      Only thing is - it doesn't work out as planned - she escapes. Desperately looks for him to "settle the argument" he started...

               JOHN  
      ...and here we are.

INT. MOVING CAB - NIGHT

The lights of nightly London flash by.

               JOHN  
          (out of the blue)  
     If Tom killed himself, there should be powder burns on his hands, shouldn't there.

               SHERLOCK  
      I doubt there'll be enough -

The taxi driver glances at the two men in the rear mirror - they didn't _seem_ like weird ones. Apart from, well, the raggedy sports bag, maybe that should have tipped him off.

The car speeds over a bump and all three occupants do a little hop in their seats. The driver turns his attention to the street again...

Sherlock lounges back in his seat, rests his head against the window.

Sherlock's POV. Scenes on a pavement behind the window glass. Passing neon lights, revellers laughing...

               SHERLOCK  
      The most difficult crimes to track are the ones without purpose...

CUT TO:

Aerial. We stay on the taxi - it heads over an illuminated bridge.

EXT. BART'S HOSPITAL - THE NEXT DAY

Browned leaves drift off trees, swirl onto the street in front of the building.

INT. BART'S HOSPITAL - ANALYTIC LABORATORY - DAY

The door to the lab swings open, Sherlock and John enter.

               SHERLOCK  
      Solved the case.

Molly, holding a pipette, looks up from her work.

               MOLLY  
      Hiya.

          (beat)  
     ...what?

               SHERLOCK  
      I'll explain when Lestrade gets here. He tends to be slow in the morning.

CUT TO:

Later. Lestrade has joined the three of them, leans against a workbench holding a coffee cup.

               MOLLY  
          (mostly to John)  
     Not a chance, the powder burns are completely atypical. His hand could've been close to the gun, but he didn't pull the trigger himself.

               SHERLOCK  
          (factual)  
     Yes he did.

Lestrade pitches in.

               LESTRADE  
      We've been over this. Each gun model leaves its very own characteristical pattern on the hands of the shooter, it's unique.

               MOLLY  
      There's comparative tests, they don't match. I would have noticed if they did. You need to trust me.

Not getting anywhere with Sherlock, she looks at John -

               JOHN  
      Of course.

Sherlock crosses his arms.

               LESTRADE  
      Sherlock, Thomas Owens did NOT kill himself.

               SHERLOCK  
      Yes - he did.

               LESTRADE  
      No, he DIDN'T. What's that supposed to be, _vengeful suicide_? Come on.

It undeniably sounds crazy, devoid of any logic...

               SHERLOCK  
      What does that even matter?

Have they got it wrong after all?

               LESTRADE  
      Listen to yourself. He was _obviously_ murdered. What is this, some giant coverup story? To distract me from what's happening?

               JOHN  
      Greg.

               LESTRADE  
      No! I can't wait for the Home Office or...

          (towards Sherlock)  
     ...or whoever to finally bother moving along. I'm not playing this game, not anymore -

          (beat)  
     Scotland Yard have a murderer to arrest, and it's _my_ responsibility.

And with that - he heads for the door. The wooden panels swing back and forth a few times after he's gone...

EXT. WAREHOUSE - DAY

It's squeezed in between other buildings - multiple storeys high. Looks like it's been built in the 70s. Tarnished windows, high above the ground. Has been painted over in different colours several times - the paint crumbles in a few places. Graffiti.

A concrete loading dock. A heavy, metal sliding door moves to the side - opens just wide enough that a person can slip through.

...a lanky man shuts it after himself, hops down the loading dock -

CUT TO:

INT. A VIEW OF THE SAME WAREHOUSE - DAY

As seen from through a window - in the attic of a building across the street. We dolly back -

JUMPCUT TO:

And see a crouching sniper, setting up. Dolly further back, more and more of the rest of the attic moves into frame - dusty lines of shelves -

JUMPCUT TO:

Two more guys. Dressed in black, heavy shoes, military haircuts. Earpieces. Dolly further back -

JUMPCUT TO:

Anthea, elegant as ever - texting.

INT. SCOTLAND YARD - LESTRADE'S OFFICE - DAY

Lestrade. Sits alone behind his desk. Pulls a desperate face, ruffles his hair. They've lost days. Days! Which he could have spent doing something useful, instead of waiting...

 _Rriinng. Rriinng. Rriing_.

The phone -

               LESTRADE  
      Yeah?

His facial expression freezes as he realizes who's speaking. It's them again -

               MYCROFT'S VOICE  
      Your determination regarding the arrest of Miss Willingham is unbreakable, it seems. You really should save yourself the effort.

Ah. And hello to you, too.

               LESTRADE  
          (sourly)  
     I can handle a bit of overtime.

               MYCROFT  
      Very well, be that as it may. I suppose you are aware she is quite the businesswoman.

               LESTRADE  
      If you mean there are a whole lot of deadly guns stashed somewhere round London connected to her... then yes, I am.

CUT TO:

Mycroft, on the phone in his sleek office at MI5.

               MYCROFT  
      Ah. Well, there seems to be no need to elaborate, I thought as much.

          (beat)  
     Dear me, Sherlock's grown all attached to you. I wonder what that's like.

He pulls a loose thread from his shirtsleeve.

CUT TO:

Lestrade's office.

               LESTRADE  
      ...he occasionally calls me Grant.

          (coolly)  
     What is it you want?

               MYCROFT  
      I'm going to give you an easy enough choice. Elaine Willingham is going to transfer her merchandise in a couple of hours.

               LESTRADE  
      According to your sources. Nice of the MI5 to share.

CUT TO:

Mycroft, in his chair.

               MYCROFT  
      I like what you do, Lestrade.

          (beat)  
     Would you rather trace one criminal on your own - or work with us. Follow my instructions and catch ten.

CUT TO:

Lestrade. We back away as he thinks about Mycroft's offer, his desk filled with piles of papers...

EXT. SCOTLAND YARD - PARKING LOT - DAY

Members of a police special unit jog about, collect their equipment.

Lestrade, wearing a helmet with opened visor, pulls tight the straps of his security vest -

About to move out...

EXT. WAREHOUSE - DAY

A van drives by. Apart from that, everything's quiet...

Round the corner of the warehouse, within the shadow of the concrete loading dock, the police special unit, huddled together, wait for their signal to go in. Tension rising.

INTERCUT WITH:

The attic of the opposite building - Anthea and her men are still there. They watch the van move by, then Anthea rises a communicator to her mouth (this is the second time we hear her speak - turns out she was the one initially calling Lestrade on the phone at Scotland Yard) -

               ANTHEA'S VOICE  
          (inside Lestrade's helmet)  
     Good luck.

INT. WAREHOUSE - DAY

A ceiling fan. _Flap flap flap_...

 _Clanging_ \- Elaine pours the contents of her backpack on a metal table. A notebook, five handguns of the same model - Radon P83 9 mm Makarov - and a bunch of matching 9 mm magazines.

               LANKY MAN  
      Thank you. My dear.

He's flanked by 4 other guys.

               ELAINE  
      As requested. Weren't easy to get.

               LANKY MAN  
      I would imagine.

               ELAINE  
          (after a pause)  
     And they are not for free. My payment, onto this table, now.

She slams her hand onto the table.

               LANKY MAN  
      Don't worry, I'll pay you, in full. I've just got one question. It's a simple one.

               ELAINE  
      Ask it, then.

               LANKY MAN  
      Why did you kill Tom?

               ELAINE  
      Are you serious?

The guy behind the metal table holds up a newspaper. The headline reads "MURDER UPON ARRIVAL".

               ELAINE  
      Is that supposed to be funny?

               LANKY GUY  
      I don't joke around. It just happens you murdered one of my friends.

               ELAINE  
      What? I didn't -

We intercut accordingly with the police special unit outside from this point on.

               LANKY GUY  
      You don't get to do that. Capisce?

               ELAINE  
      Please -

               LANKY GUY  
      Traitors go to hell, Elaine.

On Lestrade's face, as he realizes what's about to happen.

               LESTRADE  
          (yelling)  
     Engage! Go, go!

But it's too late.

 _Bang_!

Then - the metal front door rushes to the side, slams up against its stop bumper. _Wham_! Police, hustling, handcuffs, quick footsteps round Elaine's head on the floor - but she doesn't notice any of it anymore...

Blood spreads over the concrete -

CUT TO:

Later. Forensics have arrived, clean up the crime scene, zip close a body bag... carefully watched by Lestrade - he's accompanied by Sherlock and John.

               LESTRADE  
      I'm glad we got them all. I would've preferred not to deal with yet another murder, though.

Overalled members of the forensic team wheel by the body bag -

               SHERLOCK  
      ...we need to discuss.

               LESTRADE  
      Sorry Sherlock, I want to believe you and you know I always do. But I just can't think she was innocent, not after these guys - her folks - have said what they said just now.

               SHERLOCK  
      You see this? This is what they read, they were misinformed! You know how tabloids work, not a word of this is the truth!

He stops talking. Something stirring at the back of his mind.

               JOHN  
      It's not like it matters now! If she was innocent, or not!! She's dead!

          (beat)  
     Give me a break.

On Sherlock. OH -! His eyes jump from John to the body bag, back to John, to Lestrade. There's something he's just realized... something very important.

If he just played his cards well -

He takes a deep breath, addresses Lestrade.

               SHERLOCK  
      Sorry. Forget everything I said. It was the - erm - frustration, talking.

               LESTRADE  
      What?

               SHERLOCK  
      Because I see it now, I do.

          (beat)  
     Thomas Owens was murdered by her. I am wrong and _you are right_. You were all along.

A statement that leaves both Lestrade and John equally baffled -

               LESTRADE  
      Really?

               JOHN  
      What?

               SHERLOCK  
          (to Lestrade)  
     Congratulations. Excellent work.

Wow, how'd that suddenly come about - Lestrade needs a moment to answer...

               LESTRADE  
      Oh ah, yeah... Thanks -!

          (beat)  
     Took you a while to finally see reason -

               SHERLOCK  
      Good thing you're this persistent.

Quite right, that is! Lestrade beams at Sherlock, filled with pride.

               SHERLOCK  
          (frowning)  
     Don't be so pleased with yourself, it's irritating.

...great - easy come, easy go.

               LESTRADE  
      Oh-kay. Case closed.

He _slaps_ close a file he's been holding.

               LESTRADE  
          (shouts)  
     Everybody, let's go!

          (to Sherlock and John)  
     You need a ride?

               JOHN  
      That'd be great, actually, th-

He's cut off -

               SHERLOCK  
      We're good. You go ahead and -

          (what's something adequately mundane to say??)  
     - have a pleasant day.

Alright, cool - Lestrade walks off.

               JOHN  
          (the moment he's out of earshot)  
     Excellent work, was it?

               SHERLOCK  
      Mm. You see right through me.

John smirks. They head outside, away from the busy scene -

               JOHN  
      You can't blame Lestrade, though. It _is_ hard to believe Tom killed himself -

               SHERLOCK  
      Of course it is! It's supposed to be, he quite impressively _faked his own murder_.

          (beat)  
     Since we haven't really uncovered why...

          (beat)  
     ...but there _has to be a particular reason_ however nonsensical, he needed everybody, and that especially goes for Scotland Yard, to believe in his obscure setup...

          (beat)  
     I figured it might be best if we find out on our own.

               JOHN  
      Find out what?

               SHERLOCK  
      A motive to fake your own murder.

               JOHN  
      What in the world would that be?

Pause.

               SHERLOCK  
      Well, first of all, you'd have to want to die.

That was scary - the way he just said that, without batting en eye...

               SHERLOCK  
      But obviously, that's just one part of it. ...I have no idea about the other.

Okay.

               SHERLOCK  
      In any case, that matter will have to wait a bit. There's something we have to tend to rightaway.

               JOHN  
      I'm all yours -

Begin to zoom away...

               SHERLOCK  
          (mysteriously)  
     Let's go for a walk.

EXT. RAILWAY LEADING ACROSS A MARSH - SHORTLY AFTER DUSK

High grass, ash trees in between.

 _Clackety-clackety_. A local train moves west along one of multiple parallel tracks, then begins to slow down - countryside roads and the brick houses of a small town appear in the distance.

EXT. SMALL TRAIN STATION - SHORTLY AFTER DUSK

We see a familiar, dimly lit, deserted platform lined with bushes. The train pulls in. Its doors open with a pneumatic _pfshhh_ , Sherlock and John get off...

The round station clock is swarmed by tiny moths.

               JOHN  
      Lovely. What are we doing here?

A muffled, double _clack_ and the train behind them begins to roll out of the station...

               SHERLOCK  
      Mr Owens' scheduled wake-up time was 5:00 am. About half an hour before the night train would have been arriving in Paddington at 5:23. On time, according to the Train Guard. Setting our starting point to...

A quick glance towards the last waggon vanishing behind a curve -

\- and he jumps down into the track bed! Casually hops towards the adjacent transit rails, the hem of his coat brushing the weeds growing inbetween the tracks...

Stops, turns round -

               SHERLOCK  
      ...here.

What. John places his hands on his hips.

               JOHN  
          (from up on the platform)  
     You can't be serious.

               SHERLOCK  
      Papapap.

John shakes his head. Then jumps down into the rubble as well, walks towards Sherlock - who's in the process of examining the tracks up close.

               JOHN  
          (emphasizing every word)  
     This will take a while.

               SHERLOCK  
          (stretching up)  
     These are old, allowing speeds of 100 kilometres per hour, at most. That's not so bad.

               JOHN  
      Sherlock, it took them seven minutes to the phone call. Which leaves us with a distance of about... 12 kilometres.

               SHERLOCK  
      Correct.

               JOHN  
      We _better find it_.

               SHERLOCK  
      Relax. Take one.

He rummages in the insides of his coat, switches on a torch, hands it to John.

               SHERLOCK  
      Stick to the left.

CUT TO:

Later. They move along the side of the train tracks, back the way they came.

...on and on through the flat landscape, above them nothing but the night sky...


	8. Pacts

EXT. TRAIN TRACKS - NIGHT

John and Sherlock wander alongside the tracks. One after the other, below a magnificent sky full of stars, dry leaves and rubble beneath their feet - on a quiet midnight search for the truth. Their torches cast lonely cones of light into the autumn fog...

               JOHN  
          (walking ahead)  
     Hey, I got it. Look - at - that.

He stops and waits for Sherlock.

Light from John's torch reflects from a metal object - a .38 revolver. Tiny droplets of blood are sprinkled all over the barrel.

Both stare at it, as if captivated by a spell.

               SHERLOCK  
      Marvellous.

They kneel down in an almost reverent manner, their breath visible in the cold air.

Sherlock fetches one of Mrs Hudson's floral dishcloths from a pocket of his coat, throws it over the revolver and - careful not to touch it - picks it up.

John shivers, blows into his hands, glances down the tracks. It's going to be a long way home...

INT. 221B BAKER STREET - LIVING ROOM/KITCHEN - THE NEXT DAY

Sherlock sits cross-legged on the desk in the living room, views a collage of stuff over the fireplace, a mug of tea and a plate of nibbles next to him. Bites into a bisquit without taking his eyes off the wall of miscellanea.

We see John moving through the kitchen with a tray. He places it down on the table - but there's no food on it. It's the .38 revolver on the floral dishcloth, a packet of corn starch sealed with a clip and a cereal bowl filled with some of it, a sheet of black paper, clear tape. He leaves for the bathroom.

As he comes back holding an elegant shaving brush...

...he almost bumps into Sherlock, now stood next to the kitchen table, frowning at the tray - then at John.

               SHERLOCK  
      What are you doing?

               JOHN  
      Comparing fingerprints.

On Sherlock: Mhm.

John sits down at the table and gently dabs fine white powder onto the revolver's handle. Close up of the bristles, a puff of dust -

               SHERLOCK  
      Why? I thought we had established the progression of events.

John blows off excess powder, reaches for the clear tape.

               JOHN  
          (ripping off a piece of tape)  
     We did.

               SHERLOCK  
          (waving half a bisquit)  
     But?

On John's face. A long questioning look - aren't we skipping something?

               JOHN  
      The gunshot residue thing. How does that work out?

Ah.

               SHERLOCK  
      It _is_ unusual.

          (beat)  
     Not unnatural though under the prevailing circumstances. There are plenty of reasons the residue pattern on Thomas Owens' hand would not be matching the ones of comparative tests. The window was wide open, wind was blasting through, and - considering Mr Owens' level of planning - he could even have been twisting the revolver on purpose. Like this...

He contorts his hand into a strange position -

               SHERLOCK  
      or like that...

He twists and turns it another way.

               JOHN  
      Oh.

          (nods)  
     Okay, that actually makes a lot of sense.

               SHERLOCK  
      Well I'm glad.

And he finishes the rest of his bisquit -

John continues his work. Sherlock walks back into the living room and resumes his position on the desk. We see his back, the wall in front of him like a projection of his mind.

CUT TO:

Later. John shoves away a large magnifying glass. Holds up two pieces of paper. The black one - now with a taped-on transferred fingerprint, and a print-out from the lab with detailed enlarged fingerprints, a list of features and a reference picture of Mr Owens.

               SHERLOCK  
      How's your examination going?

               JOHN  
      Pretty sure they match.

               SHERLOCK  
      Good. That's good.

               JOHN  
      I'd say so, the revolver's _solid_ evidence.

          (beat)  
     Don't you wanna go ahead and tell Lestrade? You've finally - proved your case.

               SHERLOCK  
      No.

No? - John raises an eyebrow. What could possibly be _more_ important than outsmarting other people?

               SHERLOCK  
          (to the wall)  
     I need to think.

               JOHN  
      Ah. Should _I_ do it, is that what you're saying? Not your general dogsbody, you know.

He finds himself utterly ignored.

               SHERLOCK  
          (eyes widening)  
     Ohhh. OHHH.

He leaps to his feet and snatches off something's that's been taped to the mirror.

               JOHN  
      What's that?

               SHERLOCK  
          (intensely excited)  
     The "why", John, the answer - as to why Thomas Owens wanted all of us to believe he was murdered.

John looks at what he's holding - it's the stupid Railcard leaflet... "NO WORRIES TRAVELLING" -

               JOHN  
      Sherlock...

CUT TO:

Later. They're at the kitchen table. Sherlock runs his index finger long the edge, examines the dust. And blows it off.

John takes a sip from this tea cup, waits for Sherlock to say something...

               JOHN  
      Are you sure we're doing this?

               SHERLOCK  
      It - was my idea.

          (beat)  
     I thought you liked it.

               JOHN  
      Oh, yeah. Yes. I do.

               SHERLOCK  
      Good. Because I _will_ have to bury all of my investigative pride.

               JOHN  
      Right.

They look into each other's eyes...

               JOHN  
      I am... surprised.

A pause.

               SHERLOCK  
          (with a fleeting smile)  
     Are you.

               JOHN  
      Seriously, why would you do this? You don't _ever_ do this. Not for Lestrade. _Certainly_ not for Scotland Yard, _probably_ not for Elsa.

Sherlock smiles into his collar. John stares at him -

               SHERLOCK  
          (acting casually)  
     Why does anyone do anything.

          (inhales sharply)  
     With that said - we probably should go, _now_ , before one of us changes their mind.

And they get up. John takes the leaflet, Sherlock the revolver, and they head onto the corridor to get their jacket and coat. Down the stairs...

EXT. OWENS FAMILY APARTMENT - DAY

Edgware, North London.

Quick establisher of the street, the apartment building...

Elsa opens the door for Sherlock, John and Lestrade. Busily talks into a headset, gestures them to come in with an apologetic smile.

               ELSA  
      Oh of course. Your smart washing machine connects to your household WiFi in the same way that other devices, such as tablets and smartphones do.

          (beat)  
     Yes.

The door falls shut behind the four of them.

INT. OWENS FAMILY APARTMENT - DAY

They, once more, sit in the Owens' living room, but the atmosphere is very different to last time. Elsa walks in -

               ELSA  
          (taking off the headset)  
     Can I get you anything?

               JOHN  
      Thank you.

               LESTRADE  
      How are you doing?

               ELSA  
      Haven't gotten much sleep, but it's not like I did at the station either. You have this feeling there, to not know what's gonna happen with you. I know it was for our own safety. Still. It's nice to be back home.

               SHERLOCK  
      We've got news for you.

Elsa joins them. Takes a deep breath. What kind of news - good or bad?

               LESTRADE  
      Mrs Owens, your husband owned a Frequent Traveller's Railcard.

On Elsa: Okay - doesn't follow.

               SHERLOCK  
      Holders of Railcards may take out additional insurance on any of their journeys. Did you know about that?

               ELSA  
      No. Can I see?

John pulls the Railcard leaflet out of his front pocket, hands it to her.

               JOHN  
      It is an option included in the booking process. Payouts take place in case the insured is involved in an accident or falls victim to a crime.

          (beat)  
     You're the beneficiary. Take a look.

               ELSA  
      Sorry. I don't understand. What does that mean?

               LESTRADE  
      It means you're going to have the sum of money, 150,000 pounds, at your disposal, as soon as we close the investigation.

A pause. What? Elsa can't quite grasp what she's hearing. Sherlock clears his throat.

               SHERLOCK  
      Elaine Willingham died yesterday - during an operation to dismantle an arms trafficking network. We have sufficient evidence to act on the assumption she killed your husband.

On Elsa. Simply astonished - for a good while. Then she frowns, and shakes her head. That _can't_ be right.

               ELSA  
      But Mr Holmes. I told you, Elaine was -

She stops talking as she sees the look on Sherlock's face.

               SHERLOCK  
      We act on the assumption... she... killed... your husband.

And Elsa realizes.

Oh my God.

Her eyes wander round the room. She doesn't say, can't say a word. And doesn't even need to.

She looks at Sherlock, and at John. Nods, on the verge of tears.

               ELSA  
      Thank you.

Lestrade frowns for a second. What?

That was a bit _weird_ , wasn't it. He turns to John - who shrugs at him.

...ah whatever.

EXT. HAMPTON COURT BRIDGE - DAY

It's a beautiful, cloudy day - peaceful. Various shots of the bridge. Aerial, street lamps, coloured trees on the river shore. A lingering wide shot. Sherlock and John walk across the bridge...

               SHERLOCK  
      Let's stop here.

He leans onto the balustrade. John turns to join him.

               JOHN  
      Cheers, I could use a break.

               SHERLOCK  
      We won't have much time for loitering.

               JOHN  
      Ah. Shame.

They watch the water flow.

               SHERLOCK  
      The truth or the lie, John. Which is fair.

               JOHN  
      Mh, _proving_ who's right, or _doing_ what's right? Are you actually asking what's more important?

Sherlock doesn't answer, his hair curls in a breeze.

               JOHN  
      150,000 pounds, Sherlock.

               SHERLOCK  
      Yes.

          (beat)  
     But. Is it fair. She'll forever be uncertain what happened...

          (beat)  
     She deserved to know.

               JOHN  
      Oh, I think she does, deep down.

               SHERLOCK  
      You put an awful lot of faith in people. I hope you realize it is a latent weakness of yours. Common sense is far less prevalent than the phrase implies.

               JOHN  
      Even in case she _doesn't_ work out what really happened - we saved her from having to deal with the pain, isn't that a good thing.

               SHERLOCK  
      No doubt it's exactly what her husband would have wanted to happen. She never was supposed to find out what he'd done. Which might _seem_ like a favour, but it's really not.

          (beat)  
     Any truth is better than indefinite doubt.

               JOHN  
      Well, Elsa at least got the gist. Trust me.

          (beat)  
     She must have, if she's got a bit of intuition.

               SHERLOCK  
      Intuition.

               JOHN  
      You don't like the word.

               SHERLOCK  
      I despise of it. The sixth sense, some sort of God-given, mystical talent - there is no such thing.

               JOHN  
      You don't ever just have a gut feeling about something.

               SHERLOCK  
      I prefer to think of what you're describing as the simultaneous interpretation of various high-context communication styles.

A bus rushes across the bridge behind them.

They watch leaves drift in the river.

               SHERLOCK  
      I've always likes watching the current. This is a nice spot.

He throws a glance in John's direction. And pulls the .38 revolver from his coat with a grin.

               JOHN  
      You know there's going to be _questions_. We'll have to lie to Lestrade -

               SHERLOCK  
      Satisfy a long-time craving.

John rolls his eyes.

               SHERLOCK  
      Now then.

          (with a soft smile)  
     I'll be relying on you to keep secrets.

They look at each other in a silent vow of trust. Then Sherlock stretches his arm - holds the revolver over the gurgling stream of water.

               SHERLOCK  
      Do you mind?

               JOHN  
          (half-amused, half-annoyed)  
     Please.

 _Splash_ \- an unusually heavy drop into the water - and the revolver floats away in the current, sinks to the ground of the river.

A final frontal wide shot of the two men standing on the bridge. We zoom away, they walk off...


	9. Blog Post (Outro)

THE PERSONAL BLOG OF

Dr. John H. Watson

22nd September

**The Railway Reaper**

I thought I’d abandon this blog, but here we are. Don’t expect me to post on a regular basis. This is a trial run. I felt a need to return to this website after the craziness that was last week and there seems to be no other way to get Sherlock to stop rambling about ”rebooting the murder blogging” as he likes to call it.  
Thomas Owens (you probably read about him in the papers), had been discovered bleeding to death from a shot wound on the Penzance night train scheduled to Paddington. When the train was diverted to Old Oak Common Depot to be inspected by Scotland Yard things turned rather ugly, rather quickly. His ex-girlfriend Elaine Willingham, who had been travelling on the same train as him, managed not only to open a door to the outside while the train was still going, but to jump off, outrun police across the depot and jump on another train going the opposite direction. Believe me, it sounded just as crazy when Sherlock rang me up at the ungodly time of 5:30 am. We had been summoned to assist in tracking her down.|

INT. 221B BAKER STREET - LIVING ROOM - DAY

We hear fingers typing on a keyboard. _Tiptiptiptip_. _Space_. _Tiptip_. _Tiptiptiptip_.

Then the typing stops.

               JOHN  
          (at their desk)  
     You know I don't like it when you do this.

Sherlock stands behind him, frowns at the display of John's laptop.

               SHERLOCK  
      The Railway Reaper? I'd have called it differently.

On John's face. Everyone's a critic.

Sherlock swirls through the living room, as if dancing. Then stops, picks up his violin. Wanders past the fireplace, slumps into his chair.

               SHERLOCK  
      Ooooh. A Dead Man's Game.

Really.

Sherlock starts plucking the violin.

               SHERLOCK  
      The Train Runaway.

John lets out a defined puff and pulls his laptop towards him.

               JOHN  
      No.

Sherlock doesn't react much, is busy tuning the instrument now.

John resumes typing.

_Tiptiptiptiptip. Space. Tip. Tiptip. Space. Tiptip._

She had to be Thomas Owens’ murderer, why else would she flee. Soon our suspicions were backed up by the statement of one of the train’s other passengers. She had witnessed Thomas Owens accusing Elaine Willingham of murdering a man called Jack in the past, and yelling that she’d pay for what she had done. Miss Willingham had motive to kill Mr Owens, she ran, he died. It all made perfect sense. I was convinced from the get-go, anyway.  
Sherlock wasn’t. He struggled. A lot. It was weird. Filtering existing information after the discovery of a corpse to get to the essential clues usually is a walk in the park for him (and believe me when I say we’ve had loads of weird ones). He wouldn’t admit it to me but - has he taken some time off from casework? While I was away? Can any of you confirm that?? He told me it was due to the fact everything happened in a night train. That he had a gut feeling it was too inconvienient a place for commiting a murder, and it bugged him throughout. Sounds like an excuse to me, but - I kind of get it, too? It does seem like out of a book or something!! Death on a night train. Have you read Murder on the Orient Express? It reminded me of it, it was pretty unreal.  
Anyway, in retrospect, it was a tough crime scene to crack, because the paramedics had, in an effort to reanimate Thomas Owens, changed its pristine state. I guess it happens sometimes. People modify crime scenes by accident. The paramedics’ alterations were not intentional by any standard, of course, but meant we had to decipher yet another layer before we got to reconstruct the original crime.  
But first we had to tell the terrible news to Mrs Owens. Sherlock insisted to join and well, it went just as disasterous you would imagine it to. It is kind of a long story how that visit led us to actually find Miss Willingham, involving an open window, a footprint, a blue dress and the keys to Sherlock’s flat but we did. Next thing I remember, Sherlock got shot at by her. She missed, thank God. Not that being fired at would stop him from going after her. He jumped out of a second floor window. Remind me to punch him for that. Because he’s an idiot.  
I found him knocked out on a street. His brother, Mycroft, had a grudge, and needed to take it out apparently. We were not allowed to continue our investigation into Miss Willingham after that. At least not on our own. Sorry I sound a bit vague. She was involved in an arms trafficking ring, and I’m not sure how much I can write about it on the internet. I promised a lot of people I would keep secrets. She died in a shooting that happened during a sting operation.  
With her went all hopes for confessions for the murders of Jack whoever, or as a matter of fact, Thomas Owens. Luckily we had more than enough evidence to assume her as his murderer already. The only strange thing was, the bullets she fired at Mr Owens and Sherlock respectively didn’t match, but I think there’s a logical explanation. She would get rid of the first gun, the murder weapon (probably dumped it in a river somewhere as soon as she had the opportunity) and would instantly swap it for a new one. After all, she was part of an arms trafficking group.  
Sherlock had developed a crazy theory instead, that Mr Owens had staged his suicide as murder. The victim did it. It was reminiscent of the one and only time we played Cluedo together, he basically said the same thing and went into quite a frenzy. I’m just glad he didn’t stab anything. The trinity of death by unnatural causes has become second nature to me after years spent with him. Victim to a crime, accident, suicide. But vengeful suicide?? It just doesn’t happen. But since he’s Sherlock, Scotland Yard agreed to check for powder burns on Mr Owens hands. There’s no way it was suicide. But you all know how Sherlock can be. I’m not sure if he’s convinced, even now.  
I rest my case.|

The typing stops once again. John turns around his laptop.

               JOHN  
      How's that?

Sherlock gets up from his armchair and, taking his violin with him, sits opposite John at the desk. Speedreads the draft.

               SHERLOCK  
      What are you trying to do?

               JOHN  
      Writing up a murder case.

Sherlock plucks a single string on the instrument...

               SHERLOCK  
          (slowly)  
     It wasn't a murder case.

John raises an eyebrow, leans over the desk. Passes Sherlock a meaningful look -

               JOHN  
      Yeah, I _know_ it wasn't.

A stunned, fascinated, pause - then an amused smirk spreads across Sherlock's face. My God, John...

And they both start chuckling. John shakes his head and leans back in his chair, puts his hands behind his head. Happily lets his eyes wander across the living room. So there they were - the both of them, together again, forging plans. At the beginning of a new chapter...

Sherlock gets up. Ambles to the middle of the room, turns round, puts his violin to his shoulder. Places the bow on the strings -

And he marvels, just for a brief moment, at that remarkable man returned to 221B, that _is_ John Watson.

               SHERLOCK  
      It's extraordinary, John.

Their eyes meet. John wants to respond, but -

Sherlock has already gone into a world of his own, has started to play a tune. A hidden smile...

FADE OUT:

THE END


	10. A/N

This is me. Hi, all! Thanks for reading.

If you want to know more about the real case, its adaptation for a German TV show, and my process trying to ”Sherlockize” it all, this extra chapter is for you.

Everything is built round an actual case that happened in Germany in the 90s. An American citizen had been found shot on a night train. He was discovered by the Train Guard, who was about to serve the man breakfast. The crime scene screamed robbery and murder. Police found a bank receipt over 15,000 DM but no money, his stuff was all over the floor, there was no murder weapon. The window was closed, even the curtains were drawn shut. None of the other passengers had seen or heard anything...

If you’re wondering how exactly it all was revealed to be suicide staged as murder and happen to speak German - it is laid out in detail in chapter 3 of the book ”Auf der Spur des Bösen - ein Profiler berichtet”, written by Axel Petermann, detective chief superintendent at Bremen Police, who solved the case. He later consulted the creators of Germany’s widely popular and long-running TV show ”Tatort” with the adaptation of his case. Episode 817, ”Der Tote im Nachtzug” aired in 2011 and, in addition to the discovery of a dead man in his compartment, introduced a mysterious drugs smuggler fleeing from the night train. I read the book, youtubed the episode and thought it would be perfect to rewrite for a Sherlock case fic.

There’s a whole lot taken from the real case:

• The position of the dead man, the actions of the paramedics and the dilemma caused by them.  
• The shelf deduction.  
• The deduction the man had a short period of conscience after he’d shot himself based on the bullet channel.  
• His wife saying he’d been the quiet type.  
• Reenacting possible events over and over in the night train compartment.  
• The revolver model.  
• The weapon being found in the train tracks (by a railroad maintenance worker on the same day the police decided to go look).  
• The motives: killing himself, insurance fraud and possibly wanting to conceal the fact he’d chosen to end his own life to family members.

Then there’s key elements that were added on in the TV episode:  
  
• The smuggler and wife subplot, how he came to her flat, how he fled and why she came to the hotel instead of her husband.  
• The gun model.  
• The detectives having a moment in the compartment, in which they awkwardly hug each other from behind to reenact the events (that was glorious).  
• The military keeping the police in the dark to bust a smuggling ring.  
• The smuggler’s death.  
• The detectives secretly deciding to dump the murder weapon into a river without telling the rest of the department what really happened in order to help the wife.  
• A few visuals, like the slow motion blood spray, or cutting between the crime and the detectives piecing together the solution.  
  
And then there’s elements from the TV episode I changed, or ”cut”, because they felt out of tune with anything Sherlock:  
  
• The fleeing smuggler being bit by a police dog, which provides his DNA and name in the system;  
–> Sherlock gets to heroically chase after her, and the name is provided as the wife becomes their client around mid point.  
• The police dog being shot at by the smuggler;  
–> Sherlock is shot at, the bullet gets stuck in the hotel window.  
• Drugs being subject of the smuggling;  
–> Since the MI5 really needed to care, I made it arms trafficking. I also wanted to circumnavigate Sherlock’s darkest theme as much as possible.  
• The female detective sleeping with a military official to extort information;  
–> Let’s have an entertaining quarrel with Mycroft instead.  
• The wife and hotel are monitored by a backup team, while the detectives interview witnesses;  
–> I wanted Sherlock and John to follow the wife, and something to do for Lestrade. The police car had to go, Lestrade drives away, Sherlock and John spend some time in the cafe and listen to witness interviews over the phone.  
• The dead man written to be ex-military;  
–> A former military doctor, even, who’d been illegally trading antibiotics with drugs, which would have been a truly unmanagable John mirror. I had to find another link how the dead man knew our smuggler.  
• The smuggler being male and one of the detectives being female;  
–> Let’s swap that, since Watson and Holmes are both male.  
• The buildup to possible robbery from the real case and it being resolved by a bank in Poland being a fake;  
1) Sherlock would notice the bank excerpt was a fake, maybe as fast as after having spent seconds on the crime scene. Anything else seemed out of character and I had to drop that clue.  
2) Robbery as suspected motive wouldn’t have built any connection and conflict between ”murderer”, ”victim” and wife, something which was still missing in my scenario. Why not let the man about to fake his murder shout heavy false accusations at our smuggler, he’d want the argument to be witnessed - it would help his agenda, force a more interesting motive to kill onto the smuggler - and it would make sense she’d want to come after him. She being his ex would add some depth to her character and set up the connection. Kill two birds with a stone and queue the lost mystery of Jack X.  
• The psychologist/secret drinking subplot;  
–> There’s a déjà-vu, but these topics wouldn’t have added anything to the mystery. I was afraid of losing focus.  
• The wife gets paid her husband’s life insurance in the end;  
–> A detail I considered unlikely for my story (in which he wasn’t ex-military, so why would he have life insurance). The book mentions as side note his wife additionally would have received insurance money from the railway company (at least you do in Germany, if an accident or major crime happens to you on a train). Since neither insurance policies cover suicide, I got to choose Railcards, which seemed more of a common option.  
  
Anyway. That’s how the mystery got pieced together from the real case, the Tatort episode and my own ideas. Needless to say I loved writing this whole thing, but it drove me crazy at times and took forever. Hopefully I did Sherlock’s character dynamics justice. I just pray I got the pacing right, you enjoyed my silly dialogue, strange characters and stuff…  
  
xxx  
  
I’ve travelled on night trains twice. Once to get from Munich to Düsseldorf, once to get from St Petersburg to Moscow, and back. You don’t sleep as comfortably as you would at home, of course, you wake up in between now and then, in case the train stops. It breaks and you roll over in your bunk bed. But, at least for me, there’s this magic, which more than makes up for incoherent sleep schedules. You know, this mysterious, deeply romantic charm about night trains. You get on them, vanish into the night, and wake up in another city, it’s brilliant.


End file.
